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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864812">Never Leave Your Side</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk'>rattatatosk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthony J "Acts of Service" Crowley, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley needs a hug, Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Panic Attack, Prophecy, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter - Freeform, Witches, canon typical alcohol abuse, heavenly bureaucracy, the ineffable plan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:54:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rattatatosk/pseuds/rattatatosk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley had always known it was a possibility; either or both of them being replaced. But after over five thousand years, it had always seemed a very <i>distant</i> possibility, more theoretical than anything. He'd never thought it would actually <i>happen</i>.</p><p>But now it had. </p><p>(An alternate timeline AU. In 1800, Aziraphale opened his bookshop, only for Gabriel and Sandalphon to show up, offering a promotion that came with a full-time position in Heaven. Only some quick thinking and savvy thwarting on Crowley's part kept Aziraphale on Earth.</p><p>But what if Crowley hadn't been there to intervene?)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Aspec-friendly Good Omens</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Promotion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <em>Even if the sun stopped waking up over the fields</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I will not leave, I will not leave 'till it's our time</em>
  <br/>
  <em>So just take my hand, you know that I will never leave your side</em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>"You're being promoted, Aziraphale. You get to come home."</p><p>Gabriel said it with a smile, and Aziraphale knew he should answer with one of his own, but all he could manage was a quiet, startled, “Oh!”</p><p>Of all the things he'd expected from one of Gabriel's visits, this hadn't been one of them. The Archangel was only ever too happy to point out Aziraphale's many flaws and failings during his check-ins, eager to list all the ways Aziraphale could '<em>give it 110%!' </em>or whatever Heaven's most recent motivational slogan was. But now here he was, handing Aziraphale a promotion out of the blue. Recalling him back to Heaven after all this time.</p><p>Heaven. Home. He felt numb and slightly nauseous at the thought. Those two words-- they were meant to be one and the same, for angels. But Aziraphale knew, even if he'd never admit it out loud, that where he was concerned, that hadn't been the case for a long time now.</p><p>Gabriel's brilliant grin was faltering a little, as Aziraphale failed to give him the overjoyed response he clearly expected. “S-Sorry,” Aziraphale said, mustering a small, fretful smile. “You- you've caught me quite off-guard, I'm afraid-- I never expected--”</p><p>“That's our Aziraphale,” Gabriel winked to Sandalphon, giving Aziraphale a playful punch on the shoulder. “Always such a hard worker. And so modest!”</p><p>“It's that kind of devotion to duty that we're rewarding, you know,” he said, sliding one arm around Aziraphale's shoulder. “I'm sure you'll put it to good use back at Head Office.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled again, weak and watery, and cast about the shop, as if the books might hold some answer on how to get out of this situation. Because he <em>must</em> get out of it-- there must be a way, surely. He couldn't leave Earth now, he'd only just gotten his shop set up, after years spent working on it. And oh, his <em>books</em>, what would happen to them? He didn't understand why Gabriel was doing this <em>now</em>. He'd been extra meticulous with the paperwork, even, dotted every i and crossed every t, to be certain there wouldn't be even the slimmest excuse to deny him. Gabriel had signed the forms himself. So why transfer him now?</p><p>His eyes flitted over the doorway, still standing open to the warm spring air. He thought he'd seen someone standing--- but no. It was empty. There was no one there.</p><p>He looked back to Gabriel, saw those too-vivid purple eyes as the Archangel leaned in just a little too close, and he understood.</p><p>They were taking it away.</p><p>They knew how much this place meant to him. Or perhaps they only suspected. He thought he'd been careful. He'd cut back on the “frivolous” miracles, had done his best not to deserve another lecture about human indulgences and behavior <em>more becoming of an angel</em>. He must have slipped up somewhere-- or perhaps Gabriel had grown tired of lecturing him, and decided to take a more direct approach. Had decided to keep him close at hand, where he could be watched more carefully.</p><p>Or-- and he thought this might actually be worse-- perhaps it wasn't even deliberate. Heaven had certainly sent him plenty of seemingly random orders before in his long tenure on Earth. More than once they'd had him travel halfway across the world at the drop of a hat, only to perform some miracle that seemed far too trivial to be worth the effort. This could be another one of those. Sure, they'd planned to keep him permanently based in London, but <em>plans change, you know, ours is not to wonder why, right? It's ineffable, haha!</em></p><p>Either way, the result was the same.</p><p>Gabriel made his excuses and left for a quick trip to his tailor's, and Aziraphale sent him off with a cheerful wave and a hollow smile, swallowing his resentment at the Archangel's hypocrisy. All the lectures he'd gotten on indulgences, and yet Gabriel positively reeked of Pride when it came to fine clothing.</p><p>Still. There was no time to dwell on that now. He wouldn't have long, and he needed to savor every moment he could, fix the memory of this place in his mind before it was lost to him.</p><p>He walked through the shop, trailing his fingers over the shelves, reading the title of each book as he passed. Each of them was an old friend, and he would miss them. Crowley liked to tease him sometimes, asking him to name a favorite, and smirking when he failed to do so. But how could he? It was like asking him to pick a favorite food. Each of them had their own unique flavor, their own particular delights. There were some he enjoyed more frequently than others, but none he could have borne to give up completely.</p><p>As he reached his desk, he hesitated. There was an original quarto of <em>Hamlet</em> there, miraculously preserved, on top of all his papers. The Globe was putting on a performance later this week, and he'd been rereading in anticipation of attending opening night.</p><p>He did not have a favorite book, but Hamlet was, perhaps, something close to one, given the particular memories attached to it. Despite the tragic nature of the play, it never failed to make him smile, as he remembered that afternoon so long ago. The way Crowley had grumbled and complained and then miracled the play to success anyway, just to please Aziraphale. The performances they'd attended throughout the centuries after, seeing the same story change and shift as each new generation of humans added their own interpretations. Each memory was a gift; a treasure to be held against the long spans they had to spend apart.</p><p>And now they would be parted again.</p><p>He could say goodbye to his shop, but there was no way to do the same for Crowley. The demon might not miss him at first-- Aziraphale had been recalled to Heaven before, for occasional reports and team meetings. But those had been relatively brief. If he didn't return... if Crowley came to see Aziraphale and found another angel in his place...</p><p>There was no way to warn him. He couldn't leave a note-- it was far too dangerous. And in any case, what could he say? The thought of not seeing Crowley again for who knew how long-- it wrenched at something deep inside him, something too big to fit into words. Even if had been safe to leave a message, there was both too much and not enough he could say to his oldest and dearest friend.</p><p>His eyes fell again to the copy of Hamlet on his desk, and his mouth set into a firm line. Well. If he couldn't say goodbye to Crowley, perhaps he could at least take something of Crowley with him. A memento, to keep him company. It would have to be kept hidden-- Heaven wouldn't allow him to keep any material objects openly. And yet...</p><p>He thought of Gabriel's comments about his tailor. If an Archangel could keep Earthly clothing while in Heaven... Certainly, in the times he'd been called back before, he'd kept his corporation and all attendant clothing. Bodies involved a lot of paperwork, there was no sense in casually discarding them. Anything Aziraphale tried to carry with him would be subject to scrutiny. But if it were part of his clothing...</p><p>He snapped his fingers just as the shop bell chimed behind him, announcing Gabriel and Sandalphon's return. He turned to them with a smile, smoothing down the sides of his coat as he did. It was a common nervous gesture-- nothing they'd notice as out of place, and more importantly, it served to ensure his quarto of <em>Hamlet</em> was now securely in place, nestled snugly in the lining of his coat.</p><p>“Ready to go?” Gabriel asked.</p><p>“Certainly,” Aziraphale said, although he absolutely wasn't. Then, with as much false cheer as he could muster, “let's get a wiggle on, shall we?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley was still grumbling to himself when he finally arrived at the not-yet-open-bookshop the next day. He'd hoped to attend the Grand Opening, but once again, Lady Luck had decided to spit on him at the worst possible time. A storm had come up, and then his damned horse had thrown a shoe, and nearly killed them both when it stumbled and almost fell into a ditch. He'd tried to hire a carriage at the next stopping post, only to find the road had washed out, leaving him stranded with a bunch of irritable, drenched humans all simmering in their own misery until he'd been able to miraculously arrange some alternate means of travel.</p><p>Honestly, he knew demons weren't meant to have good fortune, but sometimes it felt like the universe was singling him out specifically for extra torment. And now he was late to Aziraphale's opening, which he'd been looking forward to. The angel had been preparing for this for a decade at least, and Crowley was all too ready to bask in the angel's delight, especially after he'd delivered his gifts-- a 1787 bottle of Chateau Margaux, and a box of newly invented chocolate confectionaries that Crowley was sure Aziraphale would love.</p><p>“Hallo-! Aziraphale?” he called out, rapping smartly on the doorjam and peering into the shop. It was dark, and a bit dusty, but then again, it wasn't properly open yet. Probably the angel was in back, still sorting his collection and deciding which books he'd put out to sell. Or possibly he'd gotten caught up in reading again and was oblivious to the outside world. Crowley snorted. He'd surprised the angel a time or two, sneaking right up behind him, and given Aziraphale a good teasing about it, too. <em>Some guardian you are,</em> he'd smirked. <em>What if I'd been some other demon, ready to stab you in the back?</em></p><p><em>You know very well no other demon can get through the wards, </em> Aziraphale had huffed. Then, with an indulgent smile, <em>Besides, it's only because I recognize you that my defenses are low enough to let you get close.</em></p><p>Smiling fondly at the memory, Crowley rapped again at the door, and then pushed it open. He'd startle Aziraphale out of his book, and they'd have a good laugh, and then they'd have a long talk over some excellent wine. It would be a fantastic evening.</p><p>Except... Aziraphale wasn't in his chair, curled up with a book. Casting out his senses, Crowley realized that he wasn't in the shop at all, or even in the city. Frowning, he closed his eyes, flicking his tongue out to get a better sense of things. He didn't sense any danger, and there was no sign of trouble or a fight, just...</p><p>Ah. There. The gunpowder-and-quicksilver tang of Archangels. Gabriel had been here, then, and another one with him, and wasn't it just like them to drag Aziraphale up for a report right when the angel was in the middle of opening his bookshop, and ruin Crowley's plans for the evening besides.</p><p>He sighed. Well, reports to Heaven didn't usually last that long. He'd check back in on Aziraphale in a week or two, and they'd have a good rant about their respective bosses, and things would carry on. The wine and chocolates would keep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A month went by, and then two, and Crowley started to suspect something had gone wrong.</p><p>It was confirmed when he next swung round Soho to the check on the shop, and ran right into an invisible wall a block away.</p><p>He yelped as the shock of divine energy lanced through him, stumbling in surprise. Ducking out of the path of passers-by, he leaned back against the nearest building, as if to catch his breath, but really as an excuse to scan his surroundings and make some sense of what had happened. Because it <em>didn't</em> make sense. That- that had been a ward. A ward against him. Well-- a ward against demons, <em>that also included Crowley</em>.</p><p>Aziraphale had never. Would never. So how-?</p><p>Unless it wasn't Aziraphale who was stationed at the shop.</p><p>Unless they'd replaced Aziraphale as Heaven's field agent on Earth. But no. Surely his report couldn't have gone that badly. Surely they hadn't actually <em>reassigned</em> him. Surely they wouldn't.</p><p>Would they?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Several days of cautious snooping and careful investigation later, he had his answer, and it sat bitter and rancid in his mouth.</p><p>They'd done it. They'd replaced Aziraphale with someone else.</p><p>Crowley had always known it was a possibility; either or both of them being replaced. But after over five thousand years, it had always seemed a very <em>distant</em> possibility, more theoretical than anything. He'd never thought it would actually <em>happen</em>.</p><p>But now it had. Heaven had replaced Aziraphale, those pompous <em>bastards</em>, and now some other angel was in Aziraphale's shop, no doubt already making a mess of all Aziraphale's books. It made him furious on the angel's behalf. Crowley had never been one for material things, but Aziraphale loved his books, even more than food. He'd spent centuries building his collection; it was his pride and joy. And he'd worked <em>hard</em> on getting this shop, filing endless amounts of paperwork both Heavenly and mundane, making sure everything was in order.</p><p>For Heaven to do this <em>now</em>, to take Aziraphale away just when he'd finally made a space of his own, spoke of something deeper than the casual indifference of Heaven's endless bureaucracy. This felt <em>personal</em>.</p><p>Well. There wasn't much Crowley could do about Heaven, and whatever Aziraphale was facing there. But he <em>could</em> muck up their plans here on Earth, and for once, he intended to well and truly put his back into his thwarting.</p><p>The first thing to address was the question of the books. This new angel could have the shop, but he couldn't have the books. Those belonged to Aziraphale. If the angel wasn't around to care for his collection, then Crowley would just have to do so in his stead.</p><p>Crowley's grin widened as the wheels of a plan began to turn in his mind. There was no sense in being subtle, this time around-- he needed something big, something dramatic, something suitably impressive and intimidating to properly welcome this new angel to Earth.</p><p>He twirled his cane in a sinuous loop, tucked it under his arm, and went to make his preparations, humming softly to himself. Whoever this new angel was, Crowley would make him regret the day he'd <em>ever</em> thought he could replace Aziraphale as Heaven's agent.</p><p>Time to show this interloper who he was dealing with.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley's plot to safeguard the books was a success. His efforts to thwart the new angel, unfortunately, were rather less so.</p><p>Over the next few decades, he got a better sense of his new adversary. Yaasriel, he discovered, was meticulous and thorough, but not very inventive. A completely by-the-book sort of angel, and not a terribly impressive one. Very much the type to keep quiet and do as he was told, following orders to the letter, the way Aziraphale never had. Crowley supposed that was partly the point, Heaven's complaints about Aziraphale being what they were, but it still seemed an odd choice. Field agents needed to be at least a little independent, to act on their own discretion when necessary. Yet if this angel had even a sliver of his own initiative, Crowley hadn't seen it.</p><p>(Vaguely, Crowley wondered if he hadn't pissed someone off and that was why he'd been sent down to Earth duty. While Hell considered it a privilege to be stationed on the material plane, Aziraphale had explained that Heaven most <em>definitely</em> considered it a punishment. Too much time spent in a world of gross matter was supposed to be beneath the dignity of an angel.)</p><p>So. It wasn't hard to outmaneuver Yaasriel, but it was <em>exhausting</em>. Crowley had forgotten what it was like, after so many years of the Arrangement, to carefully set up a scheme only to see a last minute angelic intervention send it all tumbling down. Yaasriel's work was easy to spot and not even that difficult to thwart, but he just never <em>stopped</em>.</p><p>Crowley had enjoyed sleeping, from time to time, taking naps of a few years or even a few decades if nothing much was going on. That wasn't possible with Yaasriel around. Crowley didn't dare spend more than a few hours asleep at a time for fear he'd be smited in the night and wake up in Hell. And sure, he didn't <em>need</em> to sleep, but he <em>enjoyed </em>it, and this angel had taken that away from him. It was just one of the many ways Yaasriel was proving to be a real thorn in Crowley's side.</p><p>It wasn't just the extra work, though. It was the solitude that got to him. Aziraphale's absence pained him like a badly-healed wound. Most of the time, it seemed fine. The ache of it would disappear, just long enough for him to forget about it--only to rear its head again when he least expected it.</p><p>Time passed, and days turned into years. Years turned into decades, and Crowley would feel almost normal for awhile. But then he'd see a book, or watch a play, or just have a bad day of work that he wanted to complain about, and he'd think <em>I can't wait to tell Aziraphale about this</em>-- only to catch himself, heart aching as he remembered that Aziraphale was gone. There would be no clandestine meetings, no “accidental” run-ins at some secluded venue, no dinners or late night drinks.</p><p>He was alone.</p><p>He didn't even have a home base, anymore. He'd only stayed in London as long as he had because Aziraphale was there, and he'd convinced Hell he needed to stay nearby to efficiently thwart Heaven's plans. But Yaasriel never stayed in one spot, and so Crowley couldn't either. He was sent hither and yon across the globe, staying only a few months or a few years before having to pack up and leave again.</p><p>It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. He'd done the same for thousands of years before the Arrangement, and even afterwards he'd never had a <em>home</em>, exactly. What was so different now?</p><p>But back then, of course, Aziraphale had been there. He'd been the one constant amid all the other changes. Even when they'd spent centuries without seeing each other, Crowley had known he was out there, somewhere on Earth. A guiding light. A fixed point amid all Time's ravages.</p><p>Now Crowley had lost him, and he found himself adrift.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Around the turn of the century, he decided to take matters into his own hands.</p><p>He'd held out hope, through all these long years, that Aziraphale's reassignment was only temporary. That eventually, Heaven would send him back. Crowley just had to make sure to still be here when he returned. He could do that. He could wait. What was immortality good for, if not waiting? And for Aziraphale, Crowley would wait until the end of the Earth and beyond.</p><p>Still. A hundred years was a long time, and Crowley was <em>tired</em>. He hadn't had a proper sleep in ages, and he was angry and lonely and hurting. On New Year's Eve of the new century, he found his solace in an astonishingly high amount of alcohol, and with it, an idea.</p><p>It seemed to him, that if he could just do things on a grand enough scale, if he could just cause <em>enough </em>trouble, surely Heaven would see that Yaasriel wasn't up to the task, and they would send Aziraphale back. Aziraphale had gotten plenty of commendations for his clever “thwarting” of Crowley under the Arrangement. Surely if things were bad enough, even Heaven would see that he was the only angel who could be trusted with the task. Surely there was something Crowley could do that would force their hand. That would bring Aziraphale back to him.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley made himself a bolt-hole, the safest, most secure, most remote location he could find, and spent a month sleeping off his hangover. Then he got to work.</p><p>It took years.</p><p>He tried everything he could think of. He orchestrated temptations on a grand scale-- complicated schemes meant to ensnare entire cities or regions-- and once, an entire country. He targeted powerful individuals, carefully crafting personal downfalls that would send ripple effects through everyone they knew. Frankly, he didn't have to work nearly as hard at it as he should have most of the time. The humans had been developing new technologies at lightning speed for most of the last half-century, and that plus the normal economic, environmental, and political pressures were piling up into a powder-keg that was just waiting for a spark. It was a recipe for disaster, and Crowley was <em>sure</em> that when it finally exploded, the fallout would be big enough that Heaven would <em>have</em> to take notice. Would have to send someone down more clever and experienced than that boring pencil-pusher Yaasriel.</p><p>Like everything else he did, though, it only blew up in his face.</p><p>He didn't start either of the World Wars, despite what he reported to Head Office, but it hardly mattered. As usual, the humans were far more inventive in their cruelties than Hell could ever be. And as always, the consequences of the dominos Crowley had set up turned out to be far worse than he'd ever imagined.</p><p>He'd known he was stacking tinder around a powder-keg just waiting for a spark. He couldn't have imagined, though, the sheer scale of the explosion when it happened. Four years. Four years of the worst horrors he'd seen in all his long existence, and half the world ravaged.</p><p>And then, not even a generation later, they did it all again.</p><p>Worst of all for Crowley: his plan didn't even work.</p><p>It was after the second World War that Crowley finally gave up on his efforts. If Heaven hadn't sent Aziraphale back after <em>that</em> much evil on Earth, they weren't going to. It was clear that no amount of scheming or tempting on his part was going to influence Heaven. Until then, all he could do was wait, and do his best to accept the truth.</p><p>Unless something drastic happened, Aziraphale wasn't coming back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, I know, it's a sad beginning. I promise it gets better.</p><p>According to the Dictionary of Angels, Yaasriel is the keeper of the 70 Holy Pencils. His job is to write bits of the Ineffable Name of God. No idea what he did to get stuck on Earth Duty, but I wanted the most boring stick-in-the-mud angel I could find, and that title was too perfect for me to resist. :D</p><p>Lyrics + title from "The Gambler" by fun</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Reassignment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>2007<br/></b> <b>11 Years Before the End of the World</b></p><p> </p><p>“Ah, Aziraphale! Just the angel I wanted to see. Can I speak to you for a moment?”</p><p>Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath, swallowed a sigh, and looked up from his work. There were few things he wished to do less than speak to Gabriel for any length of time. On the other hand, if it meant he could put off finishing this report for even a few moments longer....</p><p>“Of course,” he said, summoning his most deferential smile. “What is it?”</p><p>“I'm afraid I've got bad news,” Gabriel said. “You're being reassigned.”</p><p>“R-Reassigned?” Aziraphale said, startled.</p><p>“Yes. We're terribly sorry to do this to you, but I'm afraid you're being sent back to Earth.”</p><p>Aziraphale had fallen out of the habit of breathing during all these long years in Heaven, but his breath caught at that. <em>Earth</em>.</p><p>Quickly, he schooled his expression into something he hoped looked upset, or at least neutral. This was supposed to be bad news. He had to react appropriately. He couldn't show the soaring hope that thrummed through him at the thought of finally returning to Earth. Earth, with its books and food and <em>Crowley.</em></p><p>“I- I see,” he said, doing his best to sound disappointed. “Well, I am prepared to do my duty, of course. What is my assignment?”</p><p>Gabriel grinned. “See, I knew we could count on you. Always such a team player, Aziraphale.” He gave Aziraphale a firm clap on the shoulder. “Anyway. It's about Armaggeddon. We have reliable information that things are afoot.”</p><p><em>Armaggeddon. </em> Now that he <em>hadn't</em> expected. Surely it was too soon. He didn't know exactly how long he'd been in Heaven, but it couldn't have been that long, could it? Six thousand years, the prophecies said. That would mean--</p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by mention of Crowley's name, and his attention snapped back to Gabriel.</p><p>“What was that? Crowley?”</p><p>“Yes,” Gabriel agreed, apparently unaware of Aziraphale's lapse in attention. “Hell has made their move. My informants suggest that the Demon Crowley is involved. He needs to be kept under observation. You have the most experience in thwarting him. We expect you'll put it to good use.”</p><p>And <em>oh</em>, this just kept getting better. Heaven was handing him an excuse to stick close to Crowley, even more than he had done before. Sternly, he forced himself to rein his emotions in, schooling his face to polite, but reserved, interest. “Yes, certainly,” he murmured.</p><p>“--of course,” Gabriel continued, “We're fully aware that you won't be able to actually stop him. It's the end of the world, after all. The War will come, and it will be glorious. But we have to keep up appearances until then, eh? Give it the old college try.”</p><p>“Er,” said Aziraphale, not certain he had heard correctly. “Just a moment. So I- I <em>shouldn't</em> try to thwart Crowley?”</p><p>“No, no, do your best, of course,” Gabriel said, with a sly wink. “But we won't be surprised when you fail. All part of the Great Plan, right? The trumpets will sound, the rivers will run with blood, and the forces of Heaven will defeat the legions of Hell to claim our final victory.”</p><p>“Ah. Right,” Aziraphale said, hesitantly. “Naturally. But Earth... the humans. W-won't they all be destroyed? S-seas boiling and all that.”</p><p>“Well, of course,” Gabriel said, blithely. “Judgement Day. Part of our victory, isn't it? Claiming more human souls for our side.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned, a sense of unease rising up in his chest. The humans were meant to choose, of course, that was the whole point of having two sides. But this... It was all so, so--</p><p><em>Disproportionate</em> , said a thought that sounded very much like Crowley, and with it, the echo of an ancient memory. <em>Not the kids. They can't kill kids! </em> and <em>That's more the sort of thing you expect my lot to do.</em></p><p>And his own reply: <em>God's promised that this will be the last time. </em></p><p>The unease deepened, curdling into something like nausea. He swallowed hard, forcing it back down.</p><p>“I see,” he said, twisting his fingers together nervously. “I suppose I- well. It all seems a bit sudden, that's all.”</p><p>“Well, that's Armaggeddon for you,” Gabriel said, cheerfully. “The final battle. Can't have a proper war unless you clear the battlefield first!”</p><p>“<em>Must</em> there be a War?” Aziraphale asked, plaintively, and immediately regretted it. He needed this assignment. He <em>needed</em> to get back to Earth. He couldn't be seen to have doubts, not now.</p><p>“What, are you getting cold feet?” Gabriel scoffed. “Come on, Aziraphale. You're a warrior. You've been running drills for this for centuries now, haven't you? What's that flaming sword of yours for, if not striking down demons?”</p><p>Aziraphale thought of Crowley, standing at his side on the walls of Eden, shivering under the shelter of his wing and watching Adam and Eve walk into the wilderness. One sword, even a flaming one, had seemed such a slim defense against all the dangers of the world, even then.</p><p>“Er. Quite,” he said, fidgeting with his ring.</p><p>“Come to think of it,” Gabriel said, tilting his head, “where <em>is</em> that flaming sword, anyway? I don't think I've seen you with it in the practice yards... you did bring it with you, didn't you? You didn't leave it on Earth?”</p><p>“Ah- no. No, of course not,” Aziraphale said, tittering nervously. “Just- ah, didn't seem necessary to bring it out before the big event.”</p><p>“Of course! Quite right,” Gabriel said, slapping him on the shoulder with another too-wide grin. “Anyway, you'll do fine, I'm sure. Buck up! Just a few short years, and then we can get to the good part. It'll all be over soon.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. It would, wouldn't it. That was exactly the problem.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His bookshop was gone.</p><p>He should have expected it, after such a long time away<em>, </em>but still, the sight of it hit him like a blow. The street corner was wholly changed; the facade completely redone, not even the ghost of his sign left behind.</p><p>He'd known his books were lost, of course; either discarded by his replacement, or simply sold as part of posing as a bookseller-- but he'd thought- he'd <em>hoped</em> the building itself might still be there, even if it wasn't his. Some piece, some remnant to mark what might have been.</p><p>He was a fool.</p><p>Instead there was only a storefront for something called <em>Whispering Lotus: Healing Spa and Health Essentials</em>, its facade all smooth glass and gleaming metal. Inside, everything was bright white with soft pastel accents, all in sleek clean lines that reminded him far too much of Heaven. It was the antithesis of the dim, cluttered, dusty shop he'd left behind, and that-- that felt like a personal slight. As if they'd deliberately erased all traces of him when they'd replaced him.</p><p>He still didn't know, really, if taking the bookshop away had been an intentional wound or an ignorant one. He supposed it didn't really matter at this point. The damage had been done.</p><p>He sighed, and took a last glance at the remains of his shop before turning away to face the hustle and bustle of this modern human world. There were so <em>many</em> of them, now, the streets positively teeming with crowds that the London of old could never even dream of. Fortunately, the city was significantly cleaner these days than it had been, but all these new devices they'd invented made an absolutely <em>frightful</em> amount of noise. He'd gotten a briefing, of course, before he'd come back down, but there was so <em>much</em>, it threatened to overwhelm him.</p><p>Crowley would have understood all of it, he was sure. He always had been fascinated by humanity's inventions, always cheerfully exclaiming over their latest discovery.</p><p><em>Crowley</em>. That thought snapped him back to the present. He'd done enough wool-gathering. There was no time to waste on mourning what he'd lost. Armaggeddon was underway, and the world had only a few years left.</p><p>He needed to find Crowley. The demon was always so clever, so cunning. If there was anything to be done about the current situation, surely he would have some ideas.</p><p>And they must do <em>something</em>. No matter what Gabriel had said, no matter what prophecies were written, he couldn't believe this was really Her Plan. That She would really destroy Earth and the humans so completely.</p><p>
  <em>She promised she wouldn't. Not again.</em>
</p><p>But where to look? The demon might be anywhere on Earth, these days. Even the thought of searching London was rather daunting, with so many tall buildings looming over crowded streets. He could tell the bones of the city he'd known were still there, but nothing looked at all the same as it had, and he was sure he'd get lost in minutes.</p><p>And that-- actually, perhaps there was something to that. There was a divination technique, very ancient, called bibliomancy. When seeking answers, one simply picked a book and let it fall open to a random page, trusting it would open to a passage with the knowledge one needed at the moment. He'd done it himself, from time to time over the centuries, with varying results.</p><p>Using a written work was traditional, but in theory, any method that served to randomize one's choices could work. Perhaps- perhaps he could do something similar here. Let his feet wander, and trust they would carry him – with Her guidance- to the place he needed to be.</p><p>Aziraphale closed his eyes, took a deep breath, spun himself in a circle, and set off.</p><p>He let his thoughts drift as he walked, doing his best to clear his mind. Two hundred years and change, he'd been in Heaven. Time there flowed differently than it did on the material plane, and angels did not mark the days or hours the way mortals did. It had hardly seemed so long, and at the same time, it seemed far longer.</p><p>He had fallen back into the routine of Heaven easily enough-- drills, meetings, reports, even more meetings, and then drills again-- but it had left his heart cold. There was nothing <em>new</em> in Heaven. No books, no new ideas at all, and he quickly found himself starved for intellectual stimulation. It made him ache with longing to have just one of his books. To have <em>something </em>to read that wasn't a dry-as-dust performance report or a tactical maneuver outline. But most of all he missed Crowley. Not just his companionship, but their conversations, the challenge of them, the back-and-forth exchange of ideas. Crowley was always full of new ideas and unexpected connections, and while they often disagreed, the confrontation of it was half the fun.</p><p>There was no disagreement in Heaven.</p><p>There were, sometimes, conversations, but they hardly compared. A few of the younger angels had been curious, when he'd first returned, and asked him questions about the humans, and Earth. What it was like. He found he didn't know quite how to describe it in a way they could understand. They'd never known anything besides Heaven, and they simply didn't have the context to really grasp it. The intense sensory experience of it. He could describe the sights and sounds, the smells and tastes of the material plane, but even hearing about them in detail was nowhere near the same as wearing a corporation and actually <em>living</em> them.</p><p>It was only an intellectual exercise for them, anyway. Even the most inquisitive considered the humans only in the abstract. None of it was really <em>real</em> to them.</p><p>Most angels showed no interest in the humans. If they thought of them at all, it was only as Gabriel had described them-- a sort of points system in the great cosmic game. All that mattered was the War.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. Things were so different now. He remembered Heaven as it had been, in the Beginning, before everything went wrong. It had been so warm, so welcoming. All of them a family, united and basking in Her love.</p><p>Now... they were still family, he supposed, and certainly most of the angels seemed united, but it felt so <em>cold</em>. Like a machine, ticking along, unfeeling. Going through the motions, but not remembering the purpose behind them.They were meant to look after the humans, guide them to Her light. They were Her children, just as much as angels (and demons) were. It seemed terribly unfair to reduce all their contradictions and complexities down to a single data point.</p><p>He found himself observing them now, as he walked. Overwhelming as it was, Aziraphale found he enjoyed the controlled chaos of the city in its modern form. It was a reminder of what the stakes were. What he was fighting to preserve. The humans lived short lives, yes, but they worked so hard to fill them with meaning. To reach beyond themselves and touch something greater. To be more than the sum of their parts.</p><p>They didn't deserve to have all that taken away, simply so Heaven and Hell could finally settle the score.</p><p>Aziraphale lifted his head, and with a start, he realized he had ended up in St. James' Park, their old rendezvous point. It looked nearly the same as it always had-- a comforting piece of familiarity in the midst of all this alarming modernity.</p><p>As he approached<em> their</em> bench, though, he stopped in his tracks, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. Sitting there, in the same spot as always, was Crowley. His hair and clothes were different, of course-- how many fashions had he gone through, in all their time apart?-- but there was no mistaking that aura-- or the waves of misery pouring off him.</p><p>Aziraphale glanced up, whispering a quick prayer of thanks. He had trusted Her to bring him where he needed to be, and She'd led him right to Crowley. And none too soon, it seemed-- he wasn't sure what had happened, but the demon was obviously in great distress. He hadn't seen Crowley so wretched since the Inquisition.</p><p>He had hoped for a happier reunion, but then again, he had trusted Her to bring him where he was needed. If she'd brought him to Crowley when he was in such a state, there must be a reason.</p><p>He had found Crowley. Now all he had to do was reach him.</p><p>Steeling himself, Aziraphale approached the bench.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>He was out of time.</p><p>That was the impossible, inescapable truth of it. He'd hoped if he just waited long enough, Aziraphale would come back. That was supposed to be the benefit of being immortal, wasn't it? There was nothing you couldn't wait out. But now he was out of time. Armaggeddon was coming in eleven years, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was never going to see Aziraphale again, unless it was at the wrong end of a sword.</p><p>He was drinking the 1787 Chateau Margaux, a vintage that frankly deserved much better than the treatment he was giving it. He'd been saving it for centuries now, to celebrate if the angel ever came back. It had been one of Aziraphale's favorites, and he'd originally bought it as a gift for the opening of the bookshop. Now he was pouring one out for his lost friend and the world both, and he intended to get well and completely shit-faced doing it. Forget about things for a bit. Maybe more than a bit. After all, what did it matter if he was absolutely pissed for the entirety of the next decade? Wasn't going to stop the whole world from going up in flames or being swallowed by the sea. Might as well be blitzed when it did. Spare himself some pain.</p><p>He took a deep swig from the bottle, finishing it off, and then sloppily snapped his fingers to refill it. He should have brought something stronger, honestly, if he wanted to get well and properly sloshed, but this had been the first thing that came to hand, when he'd summoned up a drink from his flat, and now he couldn't bear to replace it.</p><p>A woman walked past him, looking at him in distaste and muttering something rude under her breath. He waved the hand not holding the bottle in an equally rude gesture at her back. Probably he'd have to dissuade a policeman from asking pointed questions later. Probably he shouldn't have chosen the very public St. James' Park in the middle of the day as the place to get extremely drunk. Probably he shouldn't have done a lot of things.</p><p>Honestly, he wasn't entirely sure he'd <em>decided</em> to end up here at all. He tended to stay away from London these days, and he especially stayed far away from Soho. But the assignment in Tadfield had him in the area, and he'd needed someplace to sit and think. He'd intended to just wander the streets for a bit, but he quickly found his feet taking him to their old rendezvous, complete with bench, still exactly the same as the last time they'd met up despite all the years in between. It had seemed as good a place as any to contemplate the end of the world. He'd conjured up some corn to feed the ducks and pass the time. But feeding the ducks had reminded him of Aziraphale, and thinking about Aziraphale-- and the fact that he'd never see the angel again-- had left him opening the doors to a veritable labyrinth of his bleakest thoughts. Now he was trapped in them, too miserable and exhausted to find his way out.</p><p>Crowley liked to think he was, at heart, an optimist. That things would, in the end, more or less work out for him. But it was hard to think that way when his immortality had very suddenly gained an expiration date, and the only thing he'd ever wanted was about to be eternally taken out of his reach.</p><p>“What was the point of it all, then, if you're just going to destroy it?” he grumbled, squinting up at the sky. He took another swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth roughly. “Guess that's what you do, though, isn't it?” he spat, slouching further down the bench. “Make something, then it doesn't work out, so you just throw it away. Send a flood, turn everything to salt and ash, raze it to the ground. Destroy it, and start over. Why bother trying to <em>fix</em> things, after all?”</p><p>He thought he saw a flash of cream out of the corner of his eye, but he turned his head away. His drunken mind had played that trick on him too many times now. He wasn't going to fall for it again.</p><p>“You said you were going to test them,” he muttered. “ 'S all in the bloody Great Plan... I know, I know. But you shouldn't-- Why test them to destruction? What good does that do anyone?” He sighed, scowling up at the blank grey sky. “How are they supposed to choose when you're just going to take everyone's choices away from them?”</p><p>He threw his head back, then, closing his eyes and draping one arm over his face, suddenly weary down to his bones and feeling every one of the last six thousand years. The bottle slipped from his fingers, and he startled at the crash as it shattered on the pavement.</p><p>He grimaced. He should- he should go. Get out of London, go back to his flat. Find a proper hidey-hole to crawl into like the snake he was. This place was too much. Too many memories, too many places full of hopes that had burned to ash around him. He couldn't bear the weight of them.</p><p>He pushed himself to his feet, swaying loosely--</p><p>--and then froze, as an all too familiar voice behind him said “...Crowley?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley whipped around. Stared. Blinked. Stared some more. It wasn't- it <em>couldn't</em> be.</p><p>“<em>Aziraphale?</em>” he breathed. “You- you're back?”</p><p>Aziraphale was standing there, concern furrowing his face, and <em>oh</em>, that face. Crowley had thought he'd remembered it clearly; he'd spent enough time pouring over the few pictures and portraits he'd hidden away, but it was nothing at all like finally seeing it again in the flesh. The blue of his eyes, the soft pout of his lips...</p><p>Crowley shook his head. That was just it, wasn't it? Aziraphale wasn't really here. Couldn't really be here. He'd gone years ago, and he wasn't coming back. That was the whole problem.</p><p>This was it, then: the stress had gotten to him and he'd finally cracked. This had to be just another alcohol-induced hallucination; his own imagination running away with him. He hadn't thought he'd had so much already, but then, he'd hardly been keeping careful track.</p><p>He grimaced, searching around for the bottle to take another swig of wine, and hissed in displeasure when he remembered it had shattered. He fumbled, trying to miracle it repaired, but couldn't coordinate his fingers long enough to manage it. Blearily, he looked back at the not-Aziraphale, as if <em>he</em> might fix the wine bottle.</p><p>He couldn't, of course. Crowley tried to remember that. Aziraphale couldn't do anything, because he wasn't really here.</p><p>But-- that <em>aura</em>. It felt so <em>real</em>. And Aziraphale-- Aziraphale didn't look at all like he'd last seen him, all Regency finery. He wore his usual cream overcoat, ridiculously out of place at this point, but the clothes beneath it-- Plain fawn-colored trousers, and a pale blue dress shirt under a soft jumper in cream-and-gold argyle, and to top it off, an utterly ridiculous bowtie in soft grey tartan. He looked like a parody of a stuffy, mid-century professor.</p><p>Crowley had never really pictured Aziraphale in any sort of modern clothing, but looking at him now, he couldn't imagine him wearing anything else.</p><p>Well, maybe not the coat. That really did belong in a museum. He frowned. And that-- that was odd, too. Aziraphale was usually quite coordinated as far as fashion went, even if he was consistently out of date. He had<em> standards</em>, as he so often liked to remind Crowley. Why... why would he have put together an outfit from the 50's and then topped it off with a coat from 1800?</p><p>Crowley shook his head. It didn't matter. This was a more vivid image than his mind had ever conjured up before, but he still shouldn't let himself believe it. He'd only be disappointed.</p><p>But G- <em>Somebody's sake</em>, he <em>wanted</em> to.</p><p>He reached out, then, as if to touch Aziraphale, and caught himself just in time. No. He couldn't. As long as they didn't touch, he could let himself believe the angel was here. If he tried to touch, the illusion would shatter, and Crowley thought he might shatter along with it.</p><p>It turned out, however, that Aziraphale had no such reservations. Between one breath and the next he was at Crowley's side, a steadying hand on the demon's arm, offering a stability he couldn't seem to manage on his own.</p><p>“Oh, <em>Crowley</em>,” Aziraphale said. “Are you- are you quite all right? I was looking for you, and I must admit I'm quite delighted that I've found you practically at my feet... but this is not how I imagined our reunion going.”</p><p><em>You imagined our reunion?  </em>Crowley thought blearily, swaying again. Aziraphale moved closer to him, keeping one hand on his arm and wrapping the other around his shoulders. He tried to steer them both back to the bench, only for Crowley to balk.</p><p>“Ngh... nmnh... 'M fine,” he slurred. He didn't want to sit down. If he sat down, Aziraphale wouldn't be touching him anymore. Crowley had never had a hallucination that involved <em>touching </em>before, but he wasn't about to give it up so easily now that he had it.</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley,” he said, “you are... really <em>quite</em> drunk. I think it's best if you sobered up, dear boy.”</p><p>Crowley gave a laugh that was half a sob. <em>Dear boy. </em>The words were a gift and a fresh wound all at once. “ 'M not as drunk as I wanted to be,” he muttered, mulishly, then hiccuped.</p><p>Aziraphale glanced down at the shattered remains of the wine bottle. “Yes, I rather think you aren't. Still. We have a <em>great</em> deal we need to discuss, and we'll both need all our wits about us.” He gave a painfully familiar, long suffering sigh, and then a quick twist of his wrist.</p><p>Crowley shuddered as the alcohol slid from his bloodstream and the world swam back into clarity. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to open them and see Aziraphale gone.</p><p>But... the seconds ticked by, and there were still warm hands on his arms, and the soft dust-and-sunlight scent that was <em>Aziraphale</em> all around him.</p><p>He opened his eyes.</p><p>“<em>There</em> you are,” Aziraphale said, looking him over. “Are you feeling all right? No hangover? I'm a bit out of practice, I'm afraid.” He gave a shrug and a slight self-deprecating smile. “Been quite some time since I was able to indulge myself, after all.”</p><p>Crowley stared at Aziraphale. Blinked. Stared again.</p><p>Nothing changed. The angel didn't disappear.</p><p>“Aziraphale?” he rasped. “You- You're really here? Still?”</p><p>“I'm here, Crowley. Really,” Aziraphale said. “And I'm not leaving again anytime soon. As I said, there's a lot we need to discuss.” He glanced around at the park, at the small groups of humans milling about, then up at the sky. “...But I'd rather not do it out in the open.”</p><p>As if on cue, a fat raindrop fell right on Crowley's head, and he flinched. He barely had time to scowl before another landed beside it, and then another. He lifted a hand to conjure up an umbrella, only to find one already hovering over his head, in pristine white. Not a moment too soon, either, as the heavens promptly opened up into a deluge, rain pouring down in sheets all around them.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled at him, eyes twinkling softly. “Just like old times, hm?”</p><p>Crowley offered a weak smile of his own in return, throat suddenly too tight to speak. There was too much he wanted to say, centuries of things he'd hoped to tell the angel, and now he couldn't find any words at all. He felt light-headed and dizzy, still hardly able to believe this was happening. That Aziraphale was really <em>here</em>. He'd waited so long he'd given up hope, and now, here at the end, he was finally, finally <em>back.</em> <em><br/><br/>“H-how?</em>” he managed to choke out at last.<br/><br/>“Hm?” Aziraphale asked.</p><p>“You- you're back,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale still had one hand on his arm, keeping him steady, and he couldn't take his eyes off that point of contact. “How? Why- why now? After- after all this time?”</p><p>“Ah.” Aziraphale frowned, slightly. “Well, Heaven learned that Armaggeddon is soon to be upon us. And that you had something to do with it.”</p><p>“Oh. Right,” Crowley muttered, wincing at the reminder of their impending doom. “That.”</p><p>“And,” Aziraphale said, leaning in and giving Crowley a conspiratorial smile, “given my <em>extensive</em> experience in thwarting you, they thought I was the best agent to keep tabs on you until the end times arrive.”</p><p>“O-oh,” Crowley said. Aziraphale was <em>very</em> close, huddled together as they were under the umbrella. “Right. Thwarting. That- that makes sense.”</p><p>“That's what I want to talk to you about,” Aziraphale said, “but we can't do it out here. We need somewhere private. Out of the way, where we won't be overheard.” He sighed, looking around the rapidly emptying park. “I'm afraid I haven't the faintest idea where anything is anymore. But I'm sure you know someplace that would be suitable.”</p><p>Crowley blinked. “I- yeah, sure. Someplace quiet, and private...” He ran through a couple possibilities in his head, tossing each aside for one reason or another, before suddenly realizing he knew exactly where they could go.</p><p>There <em>was</em> a place, in fact, that no one else in all of London knew about. No one else in the world, really. Crowley had set it up himself, and laid any number of protections upon it. He hadn't visited in decades. He hadn't had reason to. But now Aziraphale was here, and that was the <em>perfect</em> reason.</p><p>He grinned, filled with a sudden euphoria. The new reality was starting to sink in. Aziraphale was <em>back</em>. The world had been set right, just a little bit, and in this moment, he suddenly felt he could do anything.</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I know a place.”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Aziraphale beamed. “I knew you'd have something. Lead the way, will you?”</p><p>“Sure, Angel,” he said, still grinning. “Come on. Got something to show you.” He huffed a dry laugh. “Well, I've got a whole world to show you, but I know where to start.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Aziraphale turned his most brilliant smile on Crowley then, and <em>oh, </em>that <em>smile</em>. Crowley was utterly unprepared for it after such a long time without. He'd completely forgotten how it managed to melt his shriveled black heart, every time. It left him feeling light-headed and dizzy with sudden euphoria.</p><p>He felt the tips of his ears warm, and he ducked his head, hoping Aziraphale hadn't noticed. Was he <em>blushing</em> ? His corporation was absolutely <em>not</em> allowed to blush, no matter how nicely Aziraphale was smiling at him, and he reminded it sternly of that fact as he pulled himself up a little straighter.</p><p>“C'mon,” he said roughly. “It's this way. Not too far. ”</p><p>Their destination was just down the street, so Crowley suggested they walk, despite the rain. Much as he wanted to introduce Aziraphale to the Bentley, the angel just wouldn't get the full effect over such a short distance. No, better to save that for later.</p><p>He spent the brief walk to King's College trying and failing to get himself under control. Their path took them alongside several busy streets, packed with traffic for the afternoon commute, and Aziraphale was complaining about the noise. Crowley could hardly hear him over the giddy thud of his heartbeat, the sudden spark of joy in his chest. He felt light, buoyant; practically floating as he sauntered along the pavement. He suspected this was what the humans meant when they said they<em> felt like flying</em>, even though it was nothing like real flying at all.</p><p>It was that smile. That dazzling, twinkling smile that made Aziraphale all but glow with happiness. He'd do just about anything to see Aziraphale give him that smile again, and he knew- he <em>hoped-</em> that this next errand would do so. This place-- it was always meant to be a gift for the angel, one he'd been holding on to for far too long now. After he'd been handed the Antichrist, it was one he'd thought he'd never get to reveal.</p><p>The thought made him hesitate, just a little, nerves jangling with a sudden anxious anticipation. Had he overstepped? Did he do the do the right thing? A demon could get into a lot of trouble doing the right thing, as he knew only too well. He'd kept this secret for a long time, and now that it was time to finally reveal it, he found himself worrying about the angel's reaction. Aziraphale usually enjoyed his gifts, but this-- this was something a bit more than a nice wine or dinner together.</p><p>He glanced up, and saw the towering stone walls of their destination above him. Well. Nothing for it now than to press on.</p><p>He climbed up the steps and held the door open for Aziraphale. Together, they wound their way through hallways full of students, heading towards the library. A tiny brush of power ensured none of the humans noticed them. The attendant at the desk outside the Archive Centre looked up briefly as they passed, but Crowley waved a hand, and she promptly forgot she saw anything at all as her mobile rang.</p><p>“Come on, angel,” Crowley said, pushing the doors open. “This way.”</p><p>He led them down more hallways, past increasingly stern signs saying things like <em>Restricted Access </em>and <em>Employees Only</em>. It was a familiar path, and his heart ached a little at the memory of other times he'd come here. He usually hadn't been in the best frame of mind, then.</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>Aziraphale's voice brought him back to the present, and he turned to see the angel raising an eyebrow at the signs. Crowley smirked. “You'll see, angel. You wanted someplace quiet and private, yeah? Trust me, this is as quiet and private as it gets.”</p><p>They turned another corner, and another, and then reached a dead-end, the hallway blank and silent except for the faint buzz of flickering fluorescent lights above. But Crowley tapped the wall, and just like that, a door appeared where no door had been before.</p><p>He pushed his way inside, greeted by the musty smell of old leather, ancient paper, and dust. But no rot, no mildew. He'd never allow it, not here.</p><p>Crowley himself had no idea what it took to preserve books. He enjoyed reading, no matter what he told Aziraphale, but he never bothered keeping the books around very long. But the humans did. And so he'd found someplace where the humans kept their oldest and rarest books, someplace with the conditions just right, and simply added an extra room onto their archives. The books would be kept safe and undisturbed for as long as he needed, and no one else would ever know they were there at all.</p><p>With a snap of his fingers the lights flickered on, glowing with a soft warmth more reminiscent of gas-light than electricity. Then he carefully arranged himself in a casual slouch against the wall, and braced himself for Aziraphale's reaction.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Aziraphale let out a soft gasp as the lights came up, illuminating row after row of bookshelves, all packed with perfectly preserved volumes. The room was larger than it had appeared at first, and he found himself impressed despite himself at the size of this collection. He'd known King's College had a sizable rare books section, but they'd clearly increased it significantly in the time he'd been away.</p><p>Still, he couldn't understand why Crowley had brought them here, of all places. It certainly was quiet enough, and secreted away from prying eyes, but-- there was a tension to the demon's posture, despite his casual pose. He was nervous about something. This room was important, somehow, but he couldn't fathom why.</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently,“While I always enjoy a chance to peruse some rare books, I'm not sure this is the time for it. We have a lot to talk about, and I can't afford to get distracted.”</p><p>“I know, angel,” Crowley said, just as gently. “And we'll talk, I promise. I just- ngh. I needed to show you this first, all right? Just- take a look around. And then we can get on with the rest of it.”</p><p>Well. He would simply have to trust Crowley, then. Whatever this was, there was a reason behind it. Still frowning slightly, Aziraphale did as he suggested, moving over to the first of the shelves and scanning its contents.</p><p>Immediately, Aziraphale felt something was different about the books here. There was a sense of familiarity, yes, which he attributed to the scent of old leather and paper hanging in the air-- something he'd always found comforting. But there was more to it than that. He concentrated, feeling out the edges of it with his more angelic senses, and a moment later he clasped a hand to his mouth in surprise as he realized what it was.</p><p><em>Love</em>.</p><p>These books were<em> loved</em>.</p><p>He could feel it, but he still didn't understand. Curious, Aziraphale picked up a book at random. It was <em>The Canterbury Tales</em>. Running his fingers over the worn leather cover, he savored the texture of it against his fingers, the weight of it in his hands, the musty smell of old paper. All these material qualities he'd so missed during his time in Heaven. Still, there didn't seem to be anything particularly special about it, and so he set it back down.</p><p>He crossed over to the next shelf, brushing away the dust to reveal the title of another random book. It was <em>The Complaint of the Black Knight</em>, printed 1508, and he smiled in fond recognition. His own copy had been damaged on a trip across the Channel in the late 1750's, and he'd had a devil of a time restoring it. They just didn't make the same kind of paper in the 18<sup>th</sup> century as they had in the 16<sup>th</sup>. He'd had to track down the great-grandson of one of the guild leaders and commission him specially-- it had been quite the ordeal. He'd complained about it at great length to Crowley, he was sure. The demon had asked why he didn't just miracle the book back into shape, but, Aziraphale had insisted, some things were worth doing the right way.</p><p>He smiled at the memory. Even if his copy had been lost, it was good to see the humans had still managed to preserve some of these things. His eyes flicked to the next book on the shelf. A first edition of <em>Mysteries of Udolpho</em> , and wasn't <em>that</em> odd. The two shouldn't be next to each other, not in any sort of functioning archive. Frowning, he slid it from the shelf and opened it-- only to see an inscription on the title page, in a very familiar hand.</p><p>
  <em>To my dear friend A. Fell, with love. My thanks for all your encouragement. -A. Radcliffe</em>
</p><p>Aziraphale closed the book, setting it back on the shelf with trembling hands, and looked to the next. It was another Radcliffe, but this one a loosely bound manuscript, titled <em>Gaston de Blondville</em>.He vaguely remembered receiving one just like it shortly before he'd been recalled to Heaven. He'd never gotten a chance to read it.</p><p>The inscription inside this one read: <em> I think this is my best work yet, and so you, my friend, must have the first chance to read it. I look forward to hearing your thoughts. - Ann</em></p><p>There was an idea starting to bloom in Aziraphale's mind, a sneaking suspicion of just what sort of collection this really was.</p><p>“Crowley,” he said quietly, “these books...”</p><p>They <em>couldn't</em> be. But, as his gaze roamed around the room, he saw more and more familiar titles, each bound just the way he remembered them. <em>Emile. Fengshen Yanyi. Don Quixote. The Sorrows of Young Werther. A Pilgrim's Progress.</em> Old friends, all of them. Some of them had been with him for centuries. They'd traveled with him through wars and across continents.</p><p>He'd thought them lost. They <em>should </em>have been lost, with no one to watch over them. They should have been sold long ago, or destroyed by the ravages of time. Not- not all here, all together, as if someone had carefully gathered them up and set them aside-- here, in an archive of rare books, where they were sure to have the best possible conditions to preserve them-- but kept in a room beyond the notice of humans.</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>,” he said faintly. “These- These are my books.” He looked around the room, the way the shelves receded into the dim light. The space seemed larger than it should be. Not as large as his shop, no, but certainly large enough to hold--</p><p>“The whole collection,” he breathed, turning to face the demon. “It- it's all here. You... <em>you </em>did this?”</p><p>Crowley shrugged where he lounged against a bookshelf, still doing his best to look nonchalant. “Didn't know when you'd get back,” he said, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes. “But I figured-- lot of trouble for Heaven, if they sent a new angel down to manage a bookshop, and there weren't any books in it.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at him, stunned. “You <em>saved</em> them,” he whispered. “My books-- you saved them. All of them.”</p><p>He moved forward then, sweeping the demon into a tight embrace, ignoring his startled squawk at the contact.</p><p>“Oh, <em>Crowley.</em>” Aziraphale pulled back, staring into those dark glasses. “You gorgeous creature. You <em>saved</em> them for me. I thought-- when I saw the shop gone, I was sure they were lost, but you--” He reached up to clasp Crowley's face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over sharp cheekbones. “I love you.”</p><p>Crowley stared down at him, stunned, making a sort of strangled, wheezing sound rather than words.</p><p>“You-- Ngh. Guh. What?” was all he managed at last.</p><p>“I love you,” Aziraphale murmured, soft and fierce, and leaned in to kiss him.</p><p>He'd thought about what it might be like to kiss Crowley more often than he liked to admit. It had been a bit of fantasy, an idle dream when the years between them had stretched too long. He'd assumed imagination was all he would ever have.</p><p>In the moment, the reality far exceeded all his expectations.</p><p>It was wonderful. He was surrounded by Crowley, his warmth, his scent, the slight buzz of that familiar demonic aura against his ethereal senses. He reveled in the sensation of it, the intoxicating overlap of scent and taste and touch; everything he'd missed for so long, surrounded by the blank white brightness of Heaven.</p><p>He pulled back long moments later, when he realized Crowley was shaking.</p><p>“Crowley!” he gasped, grasping at the demon's arms to steady him. “I- I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-”</p><p>“Ngk,” Crowley said. Aziraphale tried to move away, but Crowley clung to him, hands clenched tight in his coat. “No, don't. Angel, it's not- it's fine. It's alright.”</p><p>He drew in a deep breath, and seemed to gather himself a little. “It's alright,” he repeated. “I didn't mind. I just didn't expect-- I didn't think you--” He shivered again and pulled back a little, fiddling with his glasses with one hand. Aziraphale pretended not to see as the demon discreetly wiped at his eyes.</p><p>Crowley sniffed, some of his composure sliding back into place, his hand still tightly gripping Aziraphale's wrist.</p><p>“You surprised me, is all,” he mumbled. “This morning-- I thought I'd never see you again. And now you're back, and you- you <em>love</em>-” his throat caught on the word and he swallowed hard, pausing a moment before continuing. “...'S just a lot,” he rasped.</p><p>“Oh, my dear Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I know. I've missed you, so very much.”</p><p>Crowley nodded once. “Y-yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Been a long- long couple've centuries.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled softly, and lifted one hand to Crowley's cheek, running a thumb along the sharp cheekbone. “I'm so sorry I had to leave. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving your side. Never again.”</p><p>Crowley shuddered. “You can't promise that. Angel. Aziraphale. Armaggeddon--”</p><p>“The War,” Aziraphale said. “I know.” He pushed Crowley back, then, just a little, so he could look him in the eye. “That's why-- Crowley, we have to stop it.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reunited at last! This scene- Crowley saving Aziraphale's entire collection while he was gone- is why I had to write this fic. Once I thought of it, I needed it to exist. </p><p>Also, I think this may actually be the only time I've had Crowley say 'Ngk.' Had to get to it eventually, I suppose.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That's why-- Crowley, we have to stop it.”</p><p>Crowley's thoughts, still spinning with emotional whiplash, screeched to a halt at that. “We-- Wait, <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“We have to <em>stop</em><span> it,” Aziraphale repeated. “They're</span> going to destroy it. All of it. Earth, the humans, <em>everything</em>. '<span>The seas will boil and the rivers will turn to blood', et cetera. Fire raining down from the sky, the whole lot. We can't let it happen. I </span><em>won't</em><span>. It's not right.”</span></p><p>“Stop Armaggeddon?” Crowley sputtered, still not certain he was hearing things right. Usually <em>he</em><span> was the one making these kind of arguments, and the reversal of their usual dance had thrown him completely off-balance. </span>“I mean, I'm all for it in theory--it's not like I <em>want</em> the world to end, but Aziraphale- <em>how?”</em></p><p>“<span>Truthfully, I've no idea,” Aziraphale admitted. “But surely we can think of </span><em>something.</em><span>”</span></p><p>
  <span>Crowley shivered. He wanted to, he did, but... “Maybe,” he admitted. “But-- Aziraphale, it's-” he gestured vaguely upward. “It's- whatsit, Her Great and Ineffable Plan, isn't it? You can't-- how can you--” he struggled to find the words, or maybe he had the words, but couldn't bring himself to say them. “It's </span>
  <em>rebelling,” </em>
  <span>he said at last, not looking at the angel. “I can't let you--”</span>
</p><p>Aziraphale took Crowley's hands gently in his own, tipping the demon's chin up to look him in the eye. “You're not <em>letting</em> me do anything, Crowley. It's my decision.”<br/><br/>“That's not the point!” Crowley snapped. “Don't change the subject. Aziraphale, you <em>know</em> what rebelling means. You remember the first War. You can't- You don't know what-”</p><p><em>You don't know what it's like, to lose everything</em>, he thought with a shudder. The angel didn't get it-- he <em>couldn't. </em>He had no idea what he was risking by suggesting this. Or he knew, but he didn't really understand what it meant. Crowley did. He'd never forget. One wrong step, that's all it had taken. He hadn't even understood what he was doing was <em>wrong</em>, and She'd ruined him for it.</p><p>The desperate, bewildered terror had come first, and then-- pain. Indescribable pain, as She'd burned the heart of him from the inside out, leaving only a shattered shell behind. His skin ached with the memory of it, hot and too tight. From there it was all too easy to imagine <em>Aziraphale</em> Falling, his beautiful white feathers <em>burning, </em>sticky with tar as he tried to claw his way out of the sulphur pit. He closed his eyes, bile rising in his throat at the horror of it.</p><p>No. <em>No.</em> He couldn't allow it, he <em>wouldn't</em> allow it. Not Aziraphale. He'd just gotten the angel back, for Hell's sake. Losing him again might just end him.</p><p>“You can't do this,” he said, pleading. “You can't. Angel, <em>please</em>. It's one thing to skip out on Heaven's orders, but going directly against <em>Her</em>...”</p><p>“I'm not. Crowley, please listen. It'll be alright. I won't Fall.”</p><p>Crowley <em>whined</em> then, a high-pitched, desperate sound. “You can't <em>know</em> that!”</p><p>
  <span>His breath was hitching now, and his hands were shaking. It was too much, too fast. Not even an hour ago he'd been despairing, convinced Aziraphale was lost to him forever, and then moments later he'd been overcome with relief when the angel returned to him. Now he was facing the prospect of losing him all over again. It left him quaking with soul-deep horror. </span>
</p><p>Could you discorporate from too many emotions? Crowley thought he might be about to. At the very least his legs didn't seem to want to hold him anymore, and he swayed, suddenly faint.</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale caught him, and guided him gently down to sit on the floor, propped up against one of the shelves. Then he lowered himself down next to Crowley, reaching one arm out to pull him closer, letting the demon curl into his side. Crowley buried his face in the angel's shoulder, breathing in the scent of him and trying to fight back his terror. </span>
</p><p>They sat like that for a long while. Crowley slumped against Aziraphale, a comfort he never expected to have but was profoundly grateful to receive now.</p><p>They'd never touched much. A brush of the fingers here, a careful hand on an arm or shoulder there. It hadn't been safe to do more. Crowley hadn't thought he'd wanted more. There was far too much touch in Hell, and none of it pleasant. Most of the time he was quite glad for others to keep their distance. But this... this was nice. Being held like this. Like he was cherished. Like he was something <em>precious</em>. Something to be protected.</p><p>Aziraphale's chest rose and fell under his cheek with unnecessary breaths, and gradually, Crowley's panic seeped out of him.</p><p>When Crowley's trembling stopped at last, Aziraphale broke the silence.</p><p>“I'm sorry,” he said, rubbing his thumb gently along Crowley's shoulder. “I'm sorry. That was badly done. I didn't mean to upset you.”</p><p>Crowley huffed, but said nothing. Aziraphale looked down at him, and then gently took his hand, twining their fingers together.</p><p>“I know it's a serious matter,” he continued. “And I promise, this is not a decision I've made lightly. I've had a very long time to think about this. All those boring staff meetings, you know.” There was a hitch in his voice, and Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale looking back at him, something wry and a little sad in his eyes.</p><p>“Let me start again,” he said softly. “Because I think you were right.”</p><p>That managed to wring a small smirk out of Crowley. “'Course I was,” he said. “About what?”</p><p>“What you said in Eden,” Aziraphale said. “That first day, on the wall. About you doing the right thing and me doing the wrong one.”</p><p>“That was-- I was just trying to make you feel better, angel. You were worrying yourself sick.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled faintly. “I was, and you did. But, well. She knew I gave my sword away, then. Of course She did, even if She didn't say anything about it. And I- I was meant to help and protect the humans, and I <em>did.</em> Even if it wasn't the way Heaven expected. It was- it was the <em>right</em> thing to do, even if it wasn't what I was <em>told</em> to do. And you said yourself-- if She really didn't want the humans eating from the Tree, She could have put it anywhere. But She left it right there in the Garden for them to find. Maybe it was always meant to work out the way it did.”</p><p>“Always did seem a bit of a setup,” Crowley grumbled. “What's your point?”</p><p>“<span>My point is this,” Aziraphale said. “You're worried about me going against Her by disrupting the Plan. But that's what I've been trying to tell you. I don't think it </span><em>is</em><span> going against Her.”</span></p><p>Crowley frowned, eyes narrowing to slits. “How could it not be?”</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sighed. “She hasn't spoken to anyone in </span>
  <em>centuries, </em>
  <span>Crowley</span>
  <em>. </em>
  <span>Millennia, even, maybe.” He looked down at their clasped hands, running his thumb over Crowley's fingers. “Before I was recalled, I thought the Archangels were getting their orders from Her. Or, if not them, then surely the Metatron at least, but now...” he frowned, looking away. </span>
</p><p>“<span>After all that time in Heaven... I don't think </span><em>any</em><span> of them know what She wants. They haven't gotten any orders. They're just assuming, or-” he swallowed, and his voice turned hesitant, uncertain. “--or even simply doing as they like, and using Her name to justify it.” His lip curled with scorn. “No better than the humans.” </span></p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head back, then, looking up at the ceiling. “They really don't care about the humans, any of them,” he said, regretfully. “It's not about making the humans better or worse. They're all just a means of keeping score. Heaven and Hell-- they're not satisfied with this standoff. They'll never be. They want to <em>settle </em>things.”</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked back at him then, and his expression was fierce and determined. “Heaven wants this War, Crowley, but I can't- I </span>
  <em>can't</em>
  <span> believe She does. She-- She loves them. What would be the point of it, having us on Earth all this time, helping the humans choose, guiding them, only to destroy it all now?”</span>
</p><p>It was certainly something, hearing the angel echo his own thoughts from earlier in the day back at him. But--</p><p>“<span>That's just </span><em>it</em><span>,” Crowley hissed, and he couldn't keep the venom out of his voice. “There doesn't have to </span><em>be</em><span> a point with Her, angel, there never </span><em>is. </em><span>She just </span><em>does</em><span> things, and there's no reason, and there's no </span><em>justice</em><span>, it's all just- just </span><em>fucking</em><span> ineffable.”</span></p><p>“Maybe it is,” Aziraphale said gently. “But—I still believe She has a Plan. And if She won't talk to anyone, won't tell us what we should do... we just have to do what we feel is right, don't we? The way we did then. The way humans do. We have to make our own choices.”</p><p>“We don't have free will, angel,” Crowley grumbled. “We don't <em>get</em> to choose. That's the whole point.”</p><p>“Don't we?” Aziraphale asked. “We've been choosing to work with instead of against each other for nearly a thousand years now. I... I have faith She wouldn't have brought us back together, now, if it wasn't for a reason.” His arm tightened around Crowley, then, as he murmured, “And I won't lose you again, not without a fight.”</p><p>The angel gave a small, rueful grin. “Maybe it won't work, but-- we have to try, don't we? The humans deserve that much, at least.”</p><p>Crowley sighed, defeated. This ridiculous angel and his bloody impossible <em>kindness</em>. It was the flaming sword all over again. How could Crowley say no when that kindness was what made him fall in love with Aziraphale in the first place?</p><p>“All right, all right,” he groaned. “Of course I'll help you, you bloody great idiot.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, tucking his face back into Aziraphale's neck as he thought about it. Really, what did he have to lose? If Hell found out he'd sabotaged Armaggeddon, they'd torture him for eternity and he'd lose Aziraphale forever. But if the War happened... he'd lose Aziraphale forever anyway. His useless heart ached at the thought. He knew the taste of that desperate hopelessness now, and he'd be damned again before he let them take Aziraphale from him.</p><p>There was no way they could pull this off. Absolutely no way. But if they did...</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>If, </span>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>somehow,</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <span> they defied all possible odds and succeeded in stopping Armaggeddon </span>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <span> avoided execution for it... </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Well, then, they'd have a whole future ahead of them. What would that even </span>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <span> like? He had no idea. He'd never dared to hope such a thing might be possible. But as he breathed in the scent of Aziraphale, felt the steady warmth of him in his arms, Crowley found himself hoping that it looked something like this. This moment. The two of them, together. Not as adversaries or acquaintances or friends, but really </span>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>together. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>“This is going to have to be one Heaven of a clever plan,” he said finally. “You know that, right?”</p><p>“<span><span>I know,” Aziraphale said. He stood, and drew Crowley up behind him. “But I am confident that between the two of us, we can find </span></span><em><span>some</span></em><span><span> solution.” </span></span></p><p>“<span><span>Now,” Aziraphale grinned, “Let's go eat. We can't very well plan to defy Heaven and Hell on an empty stomach, and I have been craving a good souffle for over a </span></span><em><span>century.”</span></em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley took them to the Ritz, because a scheme with this much chutzpah deserved a proper celebration and top quality alcohol. Neither of them were really dressed for it, but a flick of his wrist and the staff would never know the difference.</p><p>Their waiter guided them to their table, something nice and secluded with a screen of decorative plants on either side.</p><p>Aziraphale got his souffle, and it was, of course, excellent. But the real treat for Crowley, as always, was watching the angel enjoy himself. Aziraphale always enjoyed quality food, but today he was especially effusive, remarking over how <em>fresh</em> everything was, how delicate the flavors.</p><p>“Really, my dear,” he said, as he polished off the third course, “I know it's been centuries since I had a proper meal, but the humans have really outdone themselves.”</p><p>Crowley smirked. “That's progress for you, angel. They've been busy while you were gone. Come a long way. Just wait 'til you see what they've done with chocolate.”</p><p>It was a long meal, with Aziraphale determined to sample as much of the menu as possible, and they spent a long time just catching up, with Crowley providing Aziraphale a much more thorough overview of human developments over the past two centuries than Heaven had bothered with (sprinkled throughout, of course, with anecdotes on his own various schemes and trouble-making.)</p><p>Aziraphale was delighted at both, praising the humans' creativity and Crowley's cleverness in equal measure.</p><p>(“They went to the Moon? <em>Really</em>? Well, good for them,” and “Oh, Crowley, you terrible serpent. A flood of <em>molasses</em>? You're too much.”)</p><p>But mostly they talked of nothing at all, the way they always had, and it was <em>wonderful</em>. Crowley found himself relaxing more and more the longer the meal went on, just basking in the angel's presence.</p><p>Satan's sake, it was good to have him back. He'd forgotten what this felt like; the easy comfort of just having Aziraphale near, the way he lit up a room with his dry wit and infectious enthusiasm. The challenge of their conversations, both picking a side of some petty argument just for the fun of defending it. Crowley couldn't even focus on what he was saying half the time, the relief was so strong.</p><p>But despite the pleasure of his angel's company, there was still an undercurrent of fear that wouldn't leave him. No matter how mundane their conversion, he couldn't forget the reason Aziraphale had returned.</p><p>Eventually, they had to get down to business.</p><p>“<span>Right, angel,” Crowley said, once the last course had been cleared away. “Stopping Armaggeddon. Not that I'm against the idea in principle-- not like I </span><em>want</em><span> to see the Earth blown to smithereens-- but how in Heaven are we meant to </span><em>do</em><span> that?”</span></p><p>“Honestly, I don't know,” Aziraphale admitted, staring down at his wine. “I was rather hoping you'd have some ideas.”</p><p>“<em>Me?” </em><span>Crowley sputtered.</span></p><p>“<span>Well, yes. You are the great tempter, after all.” Aziraphale said, in his best </span><em>be reasonable </em><span>tone</span><em>. “</em><span>You've told me all about several intricate schemes you pulled off, tonight. Surely this can't be more difficult than those were.”<br/><br/>“I- I mean, that's-” Crowley sputtered, waving a hand wildly. “That's-- I appreciate the compliment, angel, but I can't just- just </span><em>tempt</em><span> the Antichrist into not starting Armaggedon!”</span></p><p>“Can't you?” Aziraphale asked mildly.</p><p>“<span>No! That's- ngh,” Crowley took a long gulp of wine, buying time while he fumbled for an explanation. “Temptation is about getting people to do what they already wanted to do, angel,” he said, once he'd finished. “The Antichrist will </span><em>want</em><span> to start Armaggeddon. That's the whole point.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale considered this. “So how would we make him... </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span> want to?”</span>
</p><p>“<span>We can't,” Crowley said. “It's- whatsit. In- Inhern-- in 'is nature. Some stuff is just- just baked in, right? It's like- like getting a demon </span><em>not</em><span> to corrupt the innocent.”<br/><br/>“Well, </span><em>you</em><span> don't corrupt the innocent.”<br/><br/>“Sure I do,” Crowley grumbled. “Mostly. Sometimes. A little.” Aziraphale was giving him that </span><em>look </em><span>again, the one that said he was thinking about calling Crowley things like </span><em>nice</em><span> or </span><em>sweet. “</em><span>I've had bad influences, okay?” he muttered, taking another drink and finishing off the glass.</span></p><p>“Bad influences like what?” Aziraphale asked sweetly, as he refilled Crowley's glass.</p><p>“You, for one,” he scowled. “An- an' Earth, in general. Been here a long time. It's nice. Don' wanna see it all blown up.” He sighed. “Can't drive the Bentley in Hell, either, and there's no good music. Lots of musicians, but no music. Too much screaming.”</p><p>Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Quite.” He took a sip of his own drink, then frowned thoughtfully. “What if we could convince the Antichrist to feel the same way? To care about the Earth enough that he wouldn't want to destroy it?”</p><p>“We can't. I mean-- unless...” Crowley stopped. They couldn't. Could they? He frowned, fingers tapping restlessly on the tablecloth as he thought it over.</p><p>Influence, that's what it came down to. Hell had arranged for the Antichrist to be placed with the Dowlings. Partly to put him close to influential circles of politics, yes. But also because the Dowlings were a wealthy, deeply ambitious family and there were few faster paths to damnation than giving a child power and privilege and teaching him how to use it to indulge his every whim. <br/><br/>“He's meant to be selfish,” Crowley said. “Not thinking about anything but what he wants. So when he's given the power to remake the world as he sees fit, he won't have any reason not to do it.”</p><p>“Then we'll simply have to give him a reason,” Aziraphale said, and he sounded excited now. “Humans are meant to choose, good or evil. That's why we're here. And Antichrist or no, he's still human. He has free will. Even Hell can't change that.”</p><p>Crowley hummed, running one spindly finger around the rim of his glass as he thought. “We'd need to get close to him. Close enough to have a position of influence, but not so close that we'd draw attention.”</p><p>“That shouldn't be too difficult,” Aziraphale murmured. “You said he was given to the American ambassador, yes? Those sorts of households always have plenty of staff. It shouldn't be hard to find positions.”<br/><br/>“I was thinking more about attention from our sides,” Crowley said. “They just had me do the exchange. Didn't intend to have me hanging around for the next decade.” He flicked the glass lightly, letting the high, tinny chime ring across the table. “But I don't suppose they could really <em>object</em> to me being there, grooming the kid to be as bloodthirsty as possible...”<br/><br/>“Whereas I was told to keep a close eye on you and monitor your activities,” Aziraphale said primly. “So if <em>you</em> are near the child, obviously I will need to be also.” He looked at Crowley with a soft, fond smile. “Thwarting your wiles, as always.”</p><p>Crowley ducked his head, reminding his corporation, <em>again</em>, that it was not allowed to blush. He took another drink as an excuse to avoid Aziraphale's eye. “So if we're both there, influencing him...it should balance out, like we've always done. He'd be no better or worse than any other human.”</p><p>He leaned back in his chair., letting out a gusty sigh that ruffled his hair. “That-- that might actually work.”</p><p>“And if he has connections,” Aziraphale continued, “something to care about-- something to <em>fight</em> for, he won't want to go along with Armaggeddon, when the time comes.” He looked away then, his eyes glassy, remembering. “That's the key, you know, with humans,” he said quietly. “They fight like mad to protect the things they love, even when they have every reason to give up.”</p><p>“Stubborn bastards,” Crowley remarked, with a smirk. “Like someone else I know.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled at him again, that soft, shy smile. “Well. I also have something to protect, after all.” He reached out, as if he wanted to take Crowley's hand, and then thought better of it, pulling it back to rest on the edge of the table instead.</p><p>Crowley swallowed. It was going to be a long time before he was used to this newly-affectionate angel. “Y-yeah,”he murmured.</p><p>An awkward pause stretched between them, and Crowley covered it with a cough. “Right,” he said, leaning forward and topping off both their glasses, before raising his own for a toast. “Let's go corrupt a kid. Or un-corrupt him, I guess.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out a soft huff of laughter. He looked down at his glass, twirling it thoughtfully. “<em>It is not in the stars to hold our destinies, but ourselves</em>,” he murmured.</p><p>“Then I defy them,” Crowley quoted back. “Let's hope we get out of this with less of a body count, though, eh?”</p><p>“You always did prefer the funny ones,” Aziraphale said, raising his own glass. “To happier endings, then.”</p><p>“To happier endings,” Crowley agreed, and clinked their glasses together.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Wrong Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>2018 </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Wednesday<br/></b>
  <b>Three Days 'Til the End of the World</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They'd done a good job, Crowley thought. It was hard to tell with kids-- little hellions, the lot of them, even without infernal heritage-- but Warlock was, as far as he could tell, a genuinely good kid. Curious, but thoughtful. A little reckless, but kind. Spoiled, still, sometimes a bit of a brat, but with a good heart. And he had friends, that was the important part. <em>Real</em><span> friends.</span> Good friends. The kind you might save the world for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of that <span>mattered now, because they'd had the wrong kid all along. </span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No dog,” Crowley said flatly, as the radio clicked off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No dog,” Aziraphale sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong boy,” Aziraphale agreed, grimly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S<em>hit</em><span>,” Crowley hissed, forehead thudding against the steering wheel. “That's it, then. We're fucked.”</span></span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>He</em> was fucked, in particular. Lucifer had been exceedingly <em>specific</em><span> on</span> what would happen if anything went wrong with this assignment. He'd been playing with fire from the start, and now <span>his goose was </span><em>cooked</em><span>. </span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Crowley's knuckles were white as his fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel. Shit. </span>
    <em>Shit</em>
    <span>. This should have been </span>
    <em>simple</em>
    <span>. Switch one baby for another. Not the kind of thing you should be able to fuck up. And yet </span>
    <em>somehow</em>
    <span> he'd managed it anyway. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <span>. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Well, it was a good plan, angel,” he hissed. “At least we tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<span>We can't give up </span><em>yet, </em><span>Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted. “ There's still a few days left. Surely we can figure something out.”</span></span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>Crowley closed his eyes. That was Aziraphale, always the optimist. “What is there to figure out?” he asked miserably. “We got the wrong kid. The Antichrist could be </span>
    <em>anywhere </em>
    <span>now. We'll never find him in time. And even if we did... what are we going to do with him?”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what we could do with him,” Aziraphale said, very carefully, and Crowley flinched. He'd really hoped it wouldn't come to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...still have to find him first,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <span>He could feel the panic creeping up on him now. They had just days left, and now even their wild, impossible long-shot of a plan had failed. It would take a miracle for them to pull this off now-- a miracle at a scale that neither of them were capable of, and no matter what Aziraphale thought about the Plan and Her intentions, Crowley doubted She was going to throw any favors their way. No, they were on their own, and that meant they were </span>
    <em>fucked</em>
    <span>.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was going to lose Aziraphale, all over again. The fact that he'd probably be tortured (or executed himself) shortly afterwards didn't make the truth of the matter any less painful. They'd failed, and he'd lose the only thing that had ever mattered to him, and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale reached over and laid his hand over Crowley's, squeezing gently in reassurance, and Crowley yanked himself away from his spiraling thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” the angel said softly, “we haven't lost yet. There's still time. Let's go home and think it over, all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley swallowed, and then squeezed back once, hard. Aziraphale threaded their fingers together then, pulling their hands away from the wheel, and he didn't let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a reminder, and it pulled Crowley a little further into the present. Aziraphale was still here, for now. He wasn't gone yet. They still had a little time. They could think of something. That was what he did, right? He'd wiggled out of tighter situations than this before, surely. He couldn't think of any examples just now, but he'd been around a long time. Surely there must have been something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a shaky breath, and then another, steadier one. Then he sniffed, and pushed himself firmly back into the seat, starting the car with a flick of his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he said. “Let's- let's go home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The cottage wasn't his <em>home</em><span>, of course, but it was the closest thing Crowley had had to one in decades</span>.</p><p>With the bookshop gone, Aziraphale had needed a new base of operations, and the cottage had served as useful background when applying for the position as the Dowlings' gardener (or so he'd told Gabriel.) The angel had wasted no time, however, in furnishing the place with as many creature comforts as possible, and the end result was quite a cozy little sanctuary. The only thing missing was the books. Apart from a few favorites, Aziraphale had felt it too dangerous to bring over his collection without the cover of maintaining a bookshop, and so most of it remained safely stored at King's College, waiting for a time when it would be safe to retrieve them.</p><p>Crowley was the first one in, holding the door open behind him for Aziraphale, and he immediately slouched into his favorite spot on the sofa; an exceedingly plush leather affair with a truly extravagant number of pillows. The pile of them was sinfully comfortable, even if most of them <em>were</em> decorated with overly-twee cross stitch messages and elaborate embroidery of baby animals. Aziraphale had gotten them at charity shops, and claimed he could feel the love that went into making them. Crowley complained about them every time he came over.</p><p>(He loved them.)</p><p>They couldn't actually live together, of course, but over the past decade they'd spent as much time together as they could reasonably get away with, meeting both in public spaces-- museums, theatres, parks-- and here, their private haven. The result was a space that catered to Crowley's tastes just as much as as it did Aziraphale's, although he was careful never to leave any of his actual possessions at the cottage. The Archangels did still check in periodically, and he didn't need to draw suspicion down on Aziraphale by leaving obvious demonic traces all over the place.</p><p>Aziraphale made himself tea and a plate of biscuits, and settled down in his own spot on the sofa, extending an arm in invitation. Crowley shifted over and collapsed gratefully against his side. They sat like that for a long while, Crowley slumped against the angel, nose buried in his neck, and Aziraphale gently carding his fingers through Crowley's hair.</p><p>It was a habit that had grown on them both over the years, touching. They never would have dared it, before. Bad enough to be seen meeting each other on the street, let alone <em>embracing</em><span>. But ever since Aziraphale had held him, that day he'd returned from Heaven, things had changed between them. After so long apart, touching was a helpful reminder that they were both </span><em>here</em><span>, now, together. More importantly, there was a shared sense of purpose that hadn't been there before. However this worked out, for good or for ill, they were in it together. They'd chosen their own side, and there was no going back.</span></p><p>So Crowley let himself melt into Aziraphale's soft touch, closed his eyes, and simply drifted for a little while. He did his best not to think, narrowing his focus down to sensory details of his immediate surroundings: the soft touch of Aziraphale's fingers in his hair, the plush comfort of pillows and blankets, the familiar sunlight and cinnamon scent all around him that meant <em>my angel</em><span>. Slowly, he let his awareness slip away, lulled into a doze by the quiet rustle of pages being turned and the soft ticking of a grandfather clock in the background.</span></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale let Crowley sit quietly and sleep for nearly an hour. They needed to think, to plan their next move, but before they could do that, Crowley needed to <em>relax</em>. The demon was inclined to panic, but panicking wouldn't help them now. They didn't have much time left, but they could spare a little to recoup and recover. To make sure they acted deliberately and with purpose, not on impulse.</p><p>When the clock in the corner chimed the hour, Aziraphale shifted, shaking Crowley awake. The demon groaned and pulled away reluctantly, before flopping back into his usual languid sprawl. But his eyes were clear, and as he miracled himself up a drink, there was none of the earlier panic in his expression, just grim determination.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he sighed, “What are we going to <em>do?”</em></p><p><span>Aziraphale set his tea and biscuits to the side, and then leaned back, twisting his fingers together in familiar loops as he thought. “You know, </span>I still don't understand what could have gone wrong,” he said.</p><p>“What's to understand?” Crowley groaned. “We fucked up. It was always a long shot, but we couldn't even manage to get the right kid, and now we've got nothing.”</p><p>“It can't be that simple,” the angel insisted, frowning. “We must have missed something. Tell me again about the swap.”</p><p>Crowley did. “One baby swapped for another. It should have been easy as anything. The nuns were never the brightest lot, but even they shouldn't have been able to mess this one up.”</p><p>Aziraphale hummed, thoughtfully, and looked over at the table, where he'd set his magician's kit. On the top of the stack was a deck of playing cards, and he picked them up almost idly. He tipped them out and aimlessly started shuffling. He'd always been able to think better when his hands were occupied. He'd worn out he didn't know how many articles of clothing over the years, twisting them between his fingers. It was one of the things that Gabriel had always found so disappointing.</p><p>
  <em>Imagine if he could see me now,</em>
  <span> Aziraphale thought, grimly. </span>
  <em>Consorting with a demon and conspiring to treason</em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>“You're right,” he said aloud, flicking through the cards. <em>Heart, heart, spade, diamond.</em> “It should have been simple. Which is why something else must have happened. There must be some other factor we couldn't account for.”</p><p>“<em>What</em><span> other factor?” Crowley growled. </span></p><p>“I'm not sure,” Aziraphale said, still looking down at the cards as he shuffled. <em>Club, spade, club, heart.</em> “But any time you have enough moving pieces, there's always something that gets overlooked.” <em>Diamond, heart, diamond, spade.</em></p><p>He stared down at the cards as they slipped through his fingers, and he thought about card tricks. One card, swapped for another... the realization dawned over him, cold and clear and sharp.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
  <span>Oh, of </span>
  <em>course. </em>
</p><p>“Crowley,” he said faintly, looking over at the demon. “What if it wasn't a simple swap?”</p><p>“Huh?” Crowley squinted up at him. “What do you mean, not a simple swap?”</p><p>Aziraphale shifted through his cards, pulling out two jacks and a king, holding them up for Crowley to see. “I mean,” he said, “the oldest trick in the book. Crowley... what if there was a <em>third</em><span> boy?”</span></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Thursday<br/>Two Days Til the End of the World</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been a good plan, really it had, and it </span>
  <em>should </em>
  <span>have worked, if fucking </span>
  <em>Hastur</em>
  <span> hadn't gotten trigger-happy with the arson. He just </span>
  <em>had </em>
  <span>to burn the abbey and all its records with it, didn't he. Couldn't leave well enough alone, just this once. </span>
  <em>Ugh</em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, Crowley thought, he wasn't sure why he expected anything different. </span>
  <em>Someone</em>
  <span> knows luck had never been on his side before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least now they knew what had gone wrong, not that the knowledge was any comfort. Armaggeddon was just two days away now, and they </span>
  <em>still</em>
  <span> had no way to stop it. Maybe the humans had other records somewhere else, but he had no idea where to look, and more to the point, they didn't have </span>
  <em>time.</em>
</p><p>Crowley drummed his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel, only half paying attention to what Aziraphale was saying. The panic he had only narrowly avoided yesterday was creeping back up on him, he could feel it. They were running out of options. Their backs were against the wall, and the walls themselves were shifting, closing in around them. It left Crowley irritable, anger and fear trapped and roiling just under his skin, seeking a target. He wanted to lash out at someone, give all that emotion someplace to <em>go</em>. But the only one around was Aziraphale, and that would never do. Aziraphale might not show it, but Crowley knew the angel was just as worried as he was about all of this. It was there in the way he sat, spine straight and stiff, the way his fingers fidgeted anxiously, knuckles bone-white against his pale skin.</p><p>Hope, that was the problem, Crowley thought. He'd actually let himself start to hope that they might pull this off. He'd been so relieved when Aziraphale came back, so overwhelmed when the angel said <em>I love you</em>, he'd let his defenses down. Gotten comfortable, spending long afternoons and late evenings together, all those stolen moments of quiet intimacy. He'd started to let himself think about a future, a time <em>after</em> they'd won, when maybe they wouldn't have to hide, wouldn't have to sneak around to spend time together.</p><p>Stupid. Hope was the most dangerous thing of all. It made you think you could <em>win</em>. That there might be a happy ending.</p><p>He knew better than that. He was a demon, and demons didn't get happy endings.</p><p>The hope had gotten inside him now, though, and he couldn't get rid of it. It stayed there, stubbornly curled in his shriveled heart, and it wouldn't let him give up. It was jealous and greedy and possessive, and it made him want to slip into serpent-shape and coil around his angel, to defend him from any danger, whether that was Heaven or Hell or the Almighty Herself. <em>He's mine, you can't have him</em>, he thought, fiercely. <em>You never appreciated him. I won't let you take him back.</em></p><p>There he went again, dreaming impossible dreams. Hope would do that to you. What a terrible, wretched thing it was.</p><p>He wrenched his thoughts away. Now wasn't the time for ridiculous fantasies. Now was the time for ruthless practicalities. Everything had gone wrong, and they needed to decide what they were going to do about it.</p><p>“Listen,” he said, suddenly. “Aziraphale. What if-- what if we can't stop it?”</p><p>“I- that's- we don't need to think about that,” Aziraphale spluttered. “I'm sure we can find some way. We must.”</p><p>“We <em>have</em> to think about it,” Crowley growled. “We're running out of options. I don't know about you, but I'm not fighting in any War. And I'm not inclined to stick around and find out what Hell will do to me when they find out how badly this went wrong.”</p><p>He could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him. “...what are you suggesting?” the angel said, his voice careful and clipped.</p><p>“I'm suggesting we have a backup plan,” Crowley said. “An escape route. Make a run for it, if we have to. We could go off together.”</p><p>“An escape-? Crowley, the war will be fought over all of Earth. Where would we <em>go?”</em></p><p>Crowley shrugged. “I dunno. Somewhere <em>else</em>. Space, maybe. Alpha Centauri. Plenty of other planets out there. They'll be too busy fighting each other to look for us. Won't even notice we're gone, probably.”</p><p>Aziraphale let out a long, slow sigh. “Crowley, we <em>can't.</em>”</p><p>“Course we can.”</p><p>“Well, then I <em>won't,” </em>Aziraphale snapped. “It might save us-- and I'm not so sure about that-- but it won't save the Earth and the humans. I won't abandon them. Not yet. There <em>must</em> be a way. Besides, you can't tell me you'd be happy out there. No music, no wine, no humans with their clever little human inventions? You'd be bored to tears before the year was out.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Crowley admitted, “but it would be <em>something</em>. Better than dying on a battlefield or being strung up by Hell.” <em>And you'd be there with me</em>, he thought, throat swelling with the words he couldn't bring himself to say. <em>I can endure anything as long as I've got you. Everything else can go hang.</em></p><p>Maybe Aziraphale saw something in his face, or maybe he just understood Crowley well enough to hear what wasn't being said, because he softened, and reached out again to take Crowley's hand in his own.</p><p>“I know you're scared, Crowley,” he said quietly, “But I won't give up on them, not yet. We still have time. The Plan--”</p><p>“Bollocks to the bloody Great Plan,” Crowley grumbled. “If She wanted us to stop it, She could send us a note or something, give us a <em>hint</em>, instead of leaving us flailing around without any idea what to--”</p><p>“<em>Look out!</em>” Aziraphale shouted, and then there was a sudden yelp and a very ominous thud. The Bentley stopped.</p><p>“Crowley!” he hissed. “You <em>hit</em> someone!”</p><p>“I didn't!” Crowley protested. “Someone hit <em>me.”</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They dropped the young woman off at her cottage none the worse for wear, and with all the correct gears (or lack thereof) on her bike. She thanked them and went inside, and Crowley glared at Aziraphale until the ridiculous tartan bike rack disappeared off the Bentley. So that was that.</p><p>They made their way back to their own cottage in silence, neither of them interested in continuing the argument they'd been having before they were interrupted. What else was there to say? The time left to Armaggeddon could be measured in hours, they were out of leads, and Aziraphale refused to run away. All that was left to do was wait for the end.</p><p>Crowley parked the car, and was already contemplating which alcohol would be best to drink himself into a mind-numbing haze, when he heard a soft gasp from Aziraphale.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked.<br/><br/>“Oh- it's-- there's a book back here,” Aziraphale said. “That young lady must have left it.”</p><p>“Suppose so,” Crowley shrugged, getting out of the car. “You could return it, I guess, though it's not like she'll have much more time to enjoy it.”</p><p>“Well, it would be polite,” Aziraphale said absently, reaching down to pick up the book, only to freeze when he saw the title. “Oh,” he said faintly.</p><p>“Hm?” Crowley asked, swinging around behind him. It looked like an ordinary book to him-- leather bound, a little battered, clearly at least a few centuries old. Exactly the sort of thing Aziraphale loved. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter,” he read.</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale said, hushed and almost reverent. He looked up at Crowley, and his eyes were <em>shining</em><span>, an almost feverish light in them. “Oh, Crowley, you don't understand. This is </span><em>it.</em><span>”</span></p><p>“<span>This is what. Angel, it's a book.”</span><br/><br/>“It's not 'just a book.' Crowley, this is-- I think we may have just found the solution to our problem.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took a bit of doing to pry the full story out of Aziraphale-- the angel was practically vibrating with anticipation to read the book, and Crowley could tell there'd be no getting anything out of him once he started, so he insisted on getting an explanation first. It seemed this book of prophecies was rumored to be the only one that was completely accurate, and was notoriously difficult to acquire, there being only one copy in existence. Something of a white whale for rare booksellers. No wonder Aziraphale was practically salivating over it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The timing of it all, Crowley thought, several hours later, sprawled on the couch and a few bottles in, was also </span>
  <em>distinctly</em>
  <span> suspicious. For this incredibly rare book to appear </span>
  <em>just</em>
  <span> as they were out of options, and in fact, very shortly after he'd made a sarcastic remark about </span>
  <em>hints</em>
  <span>... well. He glared up at the ceiling. “I suppose You think all this is hilarious,” he muttered, pouring himself another glass.</span>
</p><p>“<span>Hm?” Aziraphale called. “Did you say something?”</span></p><p>“<span>Nope,” Crowley replied, and downed the glass in one swallow. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”</span></p><p>Aziraphale spent the rest of the night reading, so intent on the book he hardly even seemed to see Crowley, nose practically touching the pages. Crowley himself dozed through most of it, rising only occasionally to keep Aziraphale topped off on tea and biscuits, and at some point after the fourth bottle, dropped off entirely.</p><p>He was startled awake sometime in the early morning by a triumphant “aha!” from Aziraphale, followed by a yelp and the rattle of an old phone being dropped back in its cradle.</p><p>“Sorry!” Aziraphale blurted, “Right number!”</p><p>Crowley blinked and peered blearily at Aziraphale over the edge of the sofa. “What was that all about?” he wondered.</p><p>“<span>I've found him,” Aziraphale said softly, almost as if he couldn't quite believe it. Then he turned to Crowley, eyes fierce and bright with triumph. “Crowley, I've </span><em>found him</em><span>.</span> <span>I've found the Antichrist!”</span></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, the chapter count went up-- this chapter was just getting far too long, and I had to split it. Good news, though, it means that most of what is now Chapter 6 is already written, so that should be up soon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. (Not so) Black and White</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Friday</b>
</p><p>
  <b>One Day Til the End of the World</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anathema was standing in the street, scanning auras. She was doing her best to focus, but she'd been at this for hours, now, and she was exhausted. Who knew one small town could have so many </span>
  <em>people?</em>
  <span> Still, she kept at it, peering at each person with as much concentration as she could muster and ignoring the spike of pain that was growing steadily behind her left eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Antichrist was here somewhere. It </span>
  <em>had</em>
  <span> to be. The Book said so. Maybe it could hide from her normal senses, but auras showed a person's true self. The Beast wouldn't be able to disguise </span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span>. <br/><br/></span>
  <span>The town square was the keystone of Tadfield life. However it was disguised, if it was here in Tadfield, the Antichrist was bound to pass through at some point. She just had to stay strong, and keep working. The world was running out of time, but she wouldn't give up, she </span>
  <em>wouldn't</em>
  <span>. Agnes had sent her here, and maybe she didn't have the Book anymore, but she still had her duty. She could still do this. </span>
</p><p>A woman walked by pushing a stroller, her dog trotting at her side. Their auras sparkled pink, blue, yellow. Normal. She looked to the next person. A young man playing some game on his phone, his aura sparkling a deep violet around him. Normal. She looked again. An pair of old women walked by, their arms linked together. One of them leaned on her cane. They were laughing. Their auras swirled together, green and gold. Normal.</p><p>She looked down at the pendulum dangling at the end of its string, and twirled it slightly, seeking any new currents in the flow of magic. It twisted and spun indecisively. Nothing. The same result she'd been getting for days. She pushed her glasses up and pinched the bridge of her nose, the spike of pain behind her eye throbbing. This wasn't working. Maybe she should try a different spot, or some other technique--</p><p>She was just about to pack up her tools and move on to the park when the pendulum gave a hard jerk in her hand, swinging wildly as it pulled hard to her left. She turned to follow it, wondering what on Earth had caused such a strong reaction--</p><p>--and abruptly crashed into the shoulder of someone walking past.</p><p>“Oi, watch it,” a voice hissed, as she stumbled back. Her tools and notes fell to the ground, scattered across the pavement, and she bent to retrieve them, still fumbling apologies.</p><p>“It's quite alright, my dear girl. Here, let me help you--” another voice, and then a soft set of hands were next to hers, gathering up papers.</p><p>“No, no, please, you don't have to. I'm sorry, this was my fault, really--” she mumbled, pulling back to look at him, wanting to apologize properly, and he-</p><p>He--</p><p>
  <span>His aura was like the </span>
  <em>sun</em>
  <span>, a gleaming, brilliant thing, rippling and twisting with fractals of power. It was too big to see all of it at once; she could only see glimpses. Feathers. Talons. And </span>
  <em>eyes</em>
  <span>, so- so many eyes... She swooned, suddenly dizzy, and distantly registered a hand on her shoulder, steadying her.</span>
</p><p>“Bloody Heaven,” the hissing voice said. “Turn it down a bit, angel, you'll knock her right out.”</p><p>Her eyes flicked over to the other one, and that-- that wasn't any better. Smoke and shadows, instead of light, and a shimmer like moonlight on scales, sharp curves like claws in the dark--</p><p><span>Fingers snapped sharply in front of her face. “Nope, none of that,” the voice-- the man??--barked.</span> <span>“C'mon, snap out of it.”</span></p><p>She blinked once, twice, and managed to focus on the hand in front of her, and then the person it was attached to. It looked like a man; tall, thin, and all in black, with dark red hair and sunglasses. He was all angles and hard lines, but more than that, there was an edge to him. Something that made the primal part of her sit up and take notice. Something dangerous and predatory.</p><p>“There we are,” the man said, apparently satisfied. “I think you can let her go, now, angel.”</p><p>“I really am terribly sorry about that,” the other one said, pulling her gently to her feet. He was a polar opposite to the first in almost every way: soft and round and dressed all in cream and beige, and if the first man exuded an aura of danger, this one seemed to project an air of kindness and comfort...but he was no less unsettling despite that.</p><p>
  <span>Anathema was quite suddenly aware that whatever these two were, they most certainly were not </span>
  <em>human.</em>
</p><p>It did not, however, seem a very good idea to point that out.</p><p>As her vision cleared, though, and the dizziness subsided, she looked at them again, and realized that she <em>recognized</em> these two.</p><p>“It's you!” she blurted, fear and confusion replaced by sudden anger. “<em>You two!</em> You stole my book!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There was a long silence as all three of them stared at one another. Then Aziraphale drew a sharp breath in recognition.</p><p>“<span>Oh!” he said, “Oh, of course, you're the young lady with the bicycle, yes!” He pulled the book of prophecies out from under his arm and offered it to her. “I </span><em>am</em><span> terribly sorry about that. I didn't notice you'd left it behind until we'd already arrived home. But I don't regret borrowing it. It proved quite instrumental in locating the Antichrist.”</span></p><p>“Angel,” Crowley murmured. “Should you really be-?”</p><p>Aziraphale waved him off. “It's quite all right, Crowley. I should have realized before-- Agnes mentioned this young woman. You are her descendant, yes?”</p><p>“<span>Anathema,” the young woman agreed, almost distantly, before shaking her head. “Wait. That's not important. </span>You- You know about the Antichrist? You <em>found</em><span> him?”<br/><br/></span>“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said, “he's right here in Tadfield, in fact. A young man named Adam Young.”</p><p>Anathema staggered back a step at the name. “Adam Young!” she blurted. “No. That— that can't be right.”</p><p>“I'm terribly afraid it is, dear girl,” he said sadly.</p><p>She stared at the two of them, eyes wide and worried. “You two-- who <em>are</em> you?”</p><p>“We're here to help,” Aziraphale said, “but more than that, I think we ought not to say, at least not out here in the street. Would you mind terribly if we went back to your cottage?”</p><p>“Um,” Anathema said. “Okay. Sure. I-”</p><p>“Oh, excellent,” Aziraphale said, and snapped his fingers.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>One moment they were standing in Tadfield's main square, and the next, they were standing in the front garden of Jasmine Cottage. Anathema swooned, the dizziness back in force, and then nearly dropped her things again when she registered her surroundings.</p><p>She backed up a step, books and tools clutched to her chest.</p><p>“Okay,” she said flatly. “New question. <em>What </em>are you?”</p><p>
  <span>It was rude and it was dangerous and suddenly she didn't </span>
  <em>care</em>
  <span> about any of that. She should have been prepared for this. The Book should have </span>
  <em>told </em>
  <span>her if something major like this was going to happen. She ran through the prophecies in her mind, trying to figure out what she could have missed. She should-- she shouldn't be in any danger, Agnes hadn't said she would be in danger, but Agnes hadn't said she would lose the Book, either, and she couldn't help but start running through a list of spells and defenses, just in case...</span>
</p><p>There was a long, heavy pause, as they both looked at her, uncertain. Anathema got the feeling that all of them were standing in uncharted territory.</p><p>It was the man all in black that broke the silence. He glanced at his companion, eyebrows raised, and there seemed to be some unspoken conversation that passed between them. Then he shrugged.</p><p>He shifted, slightly, and there was a quick flicker of movement across his face, the clench of his jaw as if he was bracing himself. Then he took off his sunglasses, leaving her staring at two slitted yellow snake eyes in an otherwise human face.</p><p>“I,” he said very deliberately, “am a demon. And <em>he</em><span>--” he gestured to his companion in white, “--is an angel. We're trying to stop the world ending. So. Can we come in?”</span></p><p>
  <span>For a moment she could only stare at them both, taken aback by such honesty. If it </span>
  <em>was</em>
  <span> honesty. He had said he was a demon, after all. She looked back and forth between them, trying to decide, and realizing rather suddenly that she </span>
  <em>did</em>
  <span> have to </span>
  <em>decide</em>
  <span>. She had no guidance from the Book on this, no instructions. She'd never had to make any decisions-- really </span>
  <em>important</em>
  <span> decisions, anyway, without the Book. It was unnerving, like standing on the brink of a chasm whose edge you couldn't quite see. </span>
</p><p>She looked him over. He was standing still-- unnaturally still—and watching her intently. She was reminded, very much, of a snake, reared up and ready to strike. She supposed, thinking of his aura and his eyes, that that probably made sense. But... the longer she looked, the less it felt like a predator waiting to strike and the more it seemed like...wariness. He had volunteered information about himself, and now he was waiting to see whether she would use it against him.</p><p>Given all that, she thought he probably was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed. “You can come in. Both of you.”</p><p>She turned to the door, pulling out the key to unlock it. “What should I call you?” she asked, over her shoulder. She knew better than to ask for names, at least.</p><p>“Crowley,” the dark one said, relaxing just a fraction, and “Aziraphale,” the other one said, with a smile bright enough to bring her migraine back in force.</p><p>“Right,” Anathema said. “Come on, then. I'll, uh. I'll make some tea.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>She watched them carefully as they stepped inside, wondering if the demon even could, with the horseshoe hung above. Adam hadn't had any trouble, she recalled, but his Dog...</p><p>(The Young Beast and the Lesser Beast. Could it <em>really</em> be them?)</p><p>
  <span>The demon-- </span>
  <em>Crowley-- </em>
  <span>hesitated just a bit at the threshold, scowling up at the roof, but that was all. He grinned at her after, with teeth just a little too sharp</span>
  <em>. </em>
  <span>He knew she'd been watching, it seemed, and it amused him. </span>
</p><p>She wondered, again, just what she had gotten herself into.</p><p>She set about making tea, doing her best to distract herself. It didn't work very well.</p><p>
  <span>Funny. For all that she'd spent her whole life preparing to destroy the Antichrist and stop the end of the world, she'd never really considered the matter of the actual sides involved. Despite the Biblical nature of, well, everything about Armaggeddon, she had thought of it more like-- like a natural disaster, she supposed. Something impersonal and abstract. It had never occurred to her that she might encounter </span>
  <em>actual</em>
  <span> demons or angels. Certainly not in her kitchen. And definitely not </span>
  <em>together.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>She poured tea for herself and the angel Aziraphale. Crowley waved her off when she offered. He took up a position against the kitchen counter, lounging against it as if it the very idea of standing vertically offended him. He seemed... oddly nervous, actually, even though if there was a threat in this room it certainly wasn't </span>
  <em>her</em>
  <span>. He kept shifting his weight, and occasionally peering out the kitchen window at the road.</span>
</p><p>“I- is something wrong?” she asked, but he only waved a hand at her in a <em>get on with it</em> motion.</p><p>“Right,” Anathema started, awkwardly, focusing on Aziraphale instead. “So. Um. Adam Young is the Antichrist. You're- you're sure?” She swallowed, looking down at her tea, “There's no mistake? Only I- I met him, and his friends. He's a sweet kid. A good kid. He can't be--”</p><p>“Quite sure, I'm afraid,” Aziraphale said gently, and his eyes when she looked up were full of sympathy.</p><p>“Mm. We did the mistake bit already,” Crowley grumbled.</p><p>That meant nothing to Anathema, but it didn't seem the time to ask. Better to focus on the real problem.</p><p>“So we-- what do we <em>do?” </em>she asked, hesitantly. If an angel and a demon had showed up on her doorstep, there must be a <em>reason</em>, surely.</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “I'm afraid we're rather running out of options,” he said, taking a sip of his own tea. “Time is getting quite short, as I'm sure you know. I had hoped to find another way, but it seems like the only path left may be... removing him from the equation.”</p><p>Anathema stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant, because surely, an angel couldn't be implying that--</p><p>“You're talking about murder,” she said.</p><p><span>Aziraphale winced, but didn't deny it. “You were looking for the Antichrist too, young lady,” he said.</span> “What was <em>your</em><span> plan, then, once you found him?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Anathema paused. She didn't really want to admit this to an angel, but then, she didn't want to </span>
  <em>lie</em>
  <span> to one, either. “Uh,” she said, eloquently. “Kill him?”</span>
</p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at her.</p><p>“<span>But that was before I knew who he was!” Anathema protested. “I thought he'd be-- I don't know. A beast, a monster. Something obviously evil. Not a </span><em>kid</em><span>. I can't kill a </span><em>kid!”</em></p><p>“Not even to save the world?” the angel asked her. “One life against all the lives on the planet? Every human, bird, and beast?”</p><p>
  <span>Anathema shuddered, and looked away. That was the thing, wasn't it. She was no philosophy student, but it was the obvious choice, when you put it that way. Kill one child, save </span>
  <em>everything</em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had Agnes known this was coming? She must have. She'd sent Anathema here, to find the Beast and kill it. End the threat. Hadn't that been what she'd spent her whole life preparing for? She was supposed to be the one to save them all. It's what all of them had been working towards-- her whole family, for hundreds of years, generation after generation. They had spent their lives studying the Book and passing on their knowledge, all so she could be here, now, to carry out this task. Her stomach churned at the thought of disappointing them, nausea rising in her throat. If she- if she didn't do this, she'd be a </span>
  <em>failure</em>
  <span>. She'd ruin everything.</span>
</p><p>But when it came down to it...</p><p>“No,” she whispered, unable to look at them. Her hands were shaking in her lap. “I'm sorry. I- I <em>can't.</em>”</p><p>“<span>You see our dilemma,” Crowley said, and the sympathy in his voice snapped her back to attention. She looked over at him, and he shrugged. “We tried to find another way, too. Still are, honestly, but we're coming up blank. And time is </span><em>not</em><span> on our side.”</span></p><p>
  <span>She stared at him, astonished. “You... </span>
  <em>don't</em>
  <span> want to kill him?” It didn't make any sense. He was a </span>
  <em>demon</em>
  <span>. Wasn't murder exactly the kind of thing he did?</span>
</p><p>Crowley shrugged, throwing his hands in the air. “I'm not personally up for killing kids. It's not on the top of Aziraphale's list, either. You've got suggestions, we'd love to hear 'em.”</p><p>She looked from him to the angel, and then back, her thoughts whirling. These two... there was something odd about the both of them. She'd read the lore. Angels and demons were meant to be mortal enemies. That was what Armaggeddon was all about, wasn't it? The final battle between Heaven and Hell. The forces of righteousness against the hordes of evil.</p><p><span>But here they were, in her kitchen, and both of them spoke of a </span><em>we</em><span>. </span><em>We're here to help. We're trying to stop the world ending.</em> <em>We tried to find another way</em><span>. </span></p><p>It occurred to her, rather suddenly, that if these two were meant to have a role in Armaggeddon, it was probably not supposed to be <em>stopping</em> it.</p><p>It made her think, again, of her own role. All her life, she'd studied the Book, pouring over every word and phrase, trying to tease out any possible meaning to tell her what she was supposed to do. But, well. All of that had led her here, <span>with a task before her that she could not bring herself to complete, and a pair of immortal beings who... appeared to be facing the same dilemma. </span></p><p>“You two... you're not supposed to be here, are you?” she asked faintly.</p><p>“Nnneeegh...” Crowley grumbled, all inarticulate vowels. He wiggled his too-sharp shoulders in an awkward shrug, looking pointedly out the window.</p><p>She looked over to Aziraphale, whose own expression was less exaggerated, but no more forthcoming. “...not as such,” the angel admitted at last, staring down into his tea.</p><p>“Why <em>are</em> you here, then?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed. “We've been here a long time. I'm afraid we've both become rather... <em>fond</em> of Earth, and everything on it.”</p><p>Anathema frowned at him. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”</p><p>The angel gave another contained little shrug. “Where our associates are concerned, I'm afraid it is. We're not meant to get attached. Still, it seems a terrible waste to destroy it all, just to settle a--”</p><p>“Cosmic pissing contest,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>The angel winced. “A bit more crass than I would put it, but yes. Our, ah... <em>employers</em>... are quite set on this course of events. We were sent to make certain everything went off without a hitch, as it were, but we decided to, well--”</p><p>“...throw a wrench in the works?” Anathema smirked.</p><p>“Quite,” Aziraphale said, taking another sip of tea. “Understand, we can't be seen to interfere directly. We had hoped to take a... subtler approach.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, our efforts at influencing the young Antichrist did not <em><span>quite</span></em><span> go according to plan, and now we find ourselves at loose ends. Rather as you were.”</span></p><p>“Uh-huh,” Anathema said. She took a sip of her own tea, and grimaced-- she'd left the tea bag in too long, and now it was bitter. She swallowed it anyway, just for the time it gave her to think, and to look the two of them over.</p><p>What an odd pair they were. Exact opposites, it seemed like, and nothing at all like she would have expected, if she'd ever thought about what an angel or a demon might be like. But they fit together, too, in some way she couldn't quite quantify. And there was something terribly human about them, despite the glimpse she'd seen of their true nature. For all their apparent power and experience, they looked nearly as adrift as she felt.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe we're all just muddling along, doing our best, immortal or no</em>
  <span>, she thought, wryly. And if these two felt that way... maybe they weren't the only ones. Maybe...</span>
</p><p>“You know,” she said abruptly, setting her tea cup down. “Why don't you just talk to him?”</p><p>Crowley's head snapped up, and she thought he was squinting at her from behind those dark glasses. “What?” he asked.</p><p>She shrugged. “Why don't you just talk to him?” she said again. “Adam, I mean. Just... tell him what you told me. He's... he's a good kid, he really is. His friends too. If you talk to him-- I think he'll listen. What you said, about why you wanted to stop things... I think he'll understand.”</p><p>Aziraphale stared at her, face creased with worry, and then over to Crowley, who looked equally flummoxxed.</p><p>“Would that... work?” he wondered.</p><p>Crowley shrugged, a full-body, sinuous motion. “Couldn't hurt to try, I guess.” He tilted his head towards Anathema. “We <em>did</em> say we were open to suggestions.” He pushed himself away from the counter, then, crossing his arms against his chest. “Can always go back to Plan B if it doesn't work, anyway.”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale said. He set his teacup down with a faint clatter, and stood up. “Well. No time like the present. Thank you very much for your hospitality, Miss Device,” he said. “We shall do as you suggest.”</p><p>“You'll probably know if it goes wrong,” Crowley said, detaching himself from his slouch against he counters. “So, ah-- enjoy things while they last?”</p><p>Anathema had no idea what to say to that. But, even if the Book hadn't mentioned this bit, there were still some things coming up very soon now that she'd have to attend to. There was very little time left for any of them, and certainly none to waste.</p><p>So she stood up, set the tea aside, and clasped her hands briskly. “Right,” she said. “Let me-- I'll just show you out, then.”</p><p>They were halfway to the door already before she managed to open it for them, still clinging on to some vestige of etiquette.</p><p>“Ah. Um,” she said, awkwardly. How <em>did</em> you bid goodbye to a couple supernatural entities? “Nice meeting you?" she offered, weakly. "Good luck?”</p><p>Neither of them said anything back, and neither of them moved to leave. Instead, they seemed frozen, staring in shock and horror at her front yard.</p><p>She turned to see what could possibly have their attention, and landed on four smiling faces and one very small dog.</p><p>“Hi, Miss Witch!” Adam chirped. “I really liked those magazines, and--” He stopped dead, looking past her to Crowley and Aziraphale, his face curling with the beginnings of a frown. “Oh. Who're you?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Choices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The young Antichrist caught his eye, and Crowley was rooted to the spot by the force of his gaze. He was uncomfortably aware that he was being <em>seen</em>. Not just his corporation and the surface persona he projected, but <em>known</em>, right down to the core of him. If his life was a book, the young Antichrist was reading it, flipping easily through every page of him. It was profoundly unsettling and more than a little terrifying. This was a child with the power to unmake the world-- to unmake <em>Crowley, </em>if he wanted, andscant moments ago he'd been busy discussing the possibility of murdering this kid.</p><p>Adam stared at him a moment longer, eyes narrows. Then nodded slightly, as if deciding something, and Crowley felt that penetrating gaze drop off him. He shivered, feeling raw and more than a little exposed after such intense scrutiny. He scowled and shoved his sunglasses further up his nose, making sure his eyes were well hidden.</p><p>“Right, you lot,” Adam said over his shoulder to his friends, “stay here and talk to Miss Witch, okay? I need to talk to these two.”</p><p>The girl looked like she wanted to protest, but Adam turned and gave her a look, and she subsided. “Yeah, alright,” she muttered. “Don't take too long. You <em>said</em> we were gonna play Inquisition.”</p><p>Adam eyed the two of them speculatively, and Crowley again felt the unsettling chill of the Antichrist's regard run down his spine. Then he shrugged, reassuring his friend with an easy grin. “We will. I promised, din't I? Don't worry. I 'spect it won't take long at all.”</p><p>He turned to the hellhound at his heels and snapped his fingers. “C'mon, Dog. Let's go.” The dog-- a tiny, terrier-like thing, yipped excitedly and jumped up to trot at the boy's heels, tail wagging madly.</p><p>Crowley cast a worried glance at Aziraphale, who gave the slightest of shrugs. What else could they do but follow?</p><p>It wasn't until they were already walking that the hellhound's name caught up with him.</p><p>
  <em>...Dog,</em>
  <span> Crowley thought, still feeling slightly dazed, as they moved to follow. </span>
  <em>He named the hellhound “Dog”? </em>
  <span> He almost wanted to laugh. He remembered what he'd told Aziraphale. </span>
  <em>The name shapes its purpose.</em>
  <span> And here was Dog, a small, scrappy, mongrel sort of thing, cheerful and loyal and not at all the sort of beast that howled in the night and sent children scrambling under their beds.</span>
</p><p>“<em><span>Dog</span></em><span><span>,” Crowley thought, </span></span><span><span>bemused. </span></span><em><span>Huh</span></em><span><span>. </span></span><span><span>Maybe they </span></span><em><span>did </span></em><span><span>have a chance, after all.</span></span></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Despite the Antichrist's assurances to his friends, they walked for quite awhile. Adam led them past a park, beyond the rows of houses, and down into a small wooded area, a winding series of hills and gullies. Evidence of the childrens' activity grew clearer the further they went-- balls and toys were scattered about, and a tree swing hung from a sturdy oak. Down at the base of the valley he could see a simple wooden structure of sorts, half treehouse, half tent. A child's fortress.</p><p>Adam stopped at the ridge, leaning on the rough wooden fence that lined the path. <em>Surveying his kingdom</em>, Crowley thought. He'd been around humans long enough to see it in his eyes; to recognize the pride of an artist looking over his creation. There was a chair set up under the canopy, a jumbled sort of throne, and he knew immediately that that was Adam's seat.</p><p>He couldn't sense love the way Aziraphale could, but he thought he understood, now, what the angel had meant when he'd described <em>the most extraordinary feeling </em>in this area. There was a particular aura to the whole place-- not the sort of thing you could see, the way the witch girl had been looking, but something even subtler. The kind of feeling a place or an object only got after long years of care and attention. The way his Bentley felt, or Aziraphale's books.</p><p>He could have laughed. They'd been so close, the whole time, and they'd had no idea. <em>Protective camoflague, indeed</em>.</p><p>Crowley couldn't sense love, but he <em>could</em> sense desire, and standing here overlooking his territory, the Antichrist's desires were clear as day-- a hot, fierce possessiveness over this whole place; wrapping jealously around the whole area like a dragon around its hoard. It was a feeling Crowley knew all too well; the same tangle of protective emotion that made him want to curl around Aziraphale and guard him from all harm.</p><p><em>That's the thing with humans, you know,</em> Aziraphale had said, all those years ago. <em>They fight like mad to protect the things they love.</em></p><p>
  <em>Talk to him</em>
  <span>, the witch girl had said. </span>
  <em>I think he'll understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he would, at that. Still. </span>
  <em>Easy enough to say,</em>
  <span> Crowley thought. </span>
  <em>Now what?</em>
</p><p>Crowley leaned back against one of the thick trees that lined the path, crossing his arms. Where to begin? How should they even approach this? Adam was only a child, but he was a child with the power to rewrite reality on a scale even he and Aziraphale weren't capable of. His powers weren't at full throttle yet-- that wouldn't come until tomorrow, on Judgement Day-- but Crowley could still feel them, simmering just under the skin of reality, more than enough to wipe out both of them if he wanted.</p><p>He cast an eye over to Aziraphale, but the angel seemed just as unsure as he was. He stood, stiff and silent on Adam's right, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, forehead creased the way it always was when he was stuck on a problem without an obvious solution.</p><p>In the end, it was Adam who spoke first.</p><p>“I been having some weird dreams,” he said, his eyes never leaving the ramshackle wooden fortress below them. “These past couple nights. I 'spect that's what you're here about.”</p><p>Crowley sighed. “Something like that, yeah.”</p><p>“<span><span>Lotta voices in my head,” Adam continued, crossing his arms over the wooden railing, “all tellin' me to do this or that. Making me promises. </span></span><span><span>You here to tell me what to do, too?</span></span><span><span>” </span></span><span><span>He turned and gave Crowley a baleful look over his shoulder.</span></span> “That's what you do, innit? I could see it, lookin' at you. You've been messin' about with people a long time. Both of you.”</p><p>Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but in the end all he could manage was a shrug. The boy wasn't wrong.</p><p>“We did, yeah,” he admitted. “'S our job, right?” He scowled. “What we were <em>made</em><span> to do. Didn't really get much say in it.”</span></p><p>Across from him, Aziraphale was nodding, his gaze distant. There had been far too many of those assignments, over the centuries, for both of them. No leeway, no wiggle room. Just do as you're told, and don't ask why.</p><p>“If it helps,” the angel said, lightly, “we did try to avoid interfering with things <em>too</em> much.” He frowned, his mouth twisting into a bitter line. “Although there were times it might have been better if we had.”</p><p>Adam stared at him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. Crowley wondered what he saw there, what memories of tragedy and horror he could read in the angel's somber expression.</p><p>“...I been readin' these magazines from Ms. Witch,” Adam said, quietly. “Learnin' all sorts o' things the grownups never bothered to tell us. Nuclear power plants explodin', an' whales bein' killed, and all this environment happenin'. 'Orrible things happening everywhere, every <em>day.</em>”</p><p>He scowled, his hands curling into fists. “It's- it's just-- it's all a big <em>waste</em>. Everythin's being killed or used up, and-- and no one's taking it <em>seriously</em>. They just act like somehow it'll all get better again. It's <em>stupid. </em>It's not <em>right</em>.”</p><p>He kicked at one of the fence posts. “An' then these voices, they keep sayin', <em>you can fix it, you can change it. Tear things down and start over.'</em> An' I-- it sounds so <em>easy,</em> when they say it like that. An' nobody else is doin' anythin', and sometimes it seems like it'd serve 'em right if I <em>did</em> burn everything down. Start over again, but properly this time. Sort everything out.”</p><p>Crowley heard the fury and the <em>frustration</em> in his voice, and that, too, was a far too familiar feeling. How often had he stood in the wake of disaster and wondered: <em>Why</em>?</p><p>Millennia after millennia, tragedy after tragedy. It was always the same questions on his tongue, the same helpless fury. <em>Why are you </em>doing<em> this</em>? Why<em> make them suffer so? What did they do to deserve this? What did any of us do? How can you call this justice? </em></p><p>
  <em>How can you call this love?</em>
</p><p>His gaze flickered over to Aziraphale. The angel's expression was grim; a flat line of misery. He'd been there, too, after all. Wars, famines, plagues, natural disasters. His hands had been even more tied than Crowley's, his doubts held tight behind his teeth, but that didn't mean he didn't have them.</p><p>Crowley knew the feeling. And he thought he understood, now, what Adam needed to hear.</p><p>“You're right,” he said. “It does sound easy, when they put it like that. That's the thing about temptations. They always <em>sound</em> like a good idea, or you wouldn't want to do them.” He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “And you're not wrong about the world. It can be a real shitshow.”</p><p>Aziraphale tutted softly at the choice of words, but Crowley continued on. “You talk about us 'messin' about' with humans, but honestly? Most of the time, we didn't <em>have</em> to.”</p><p>He raked his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “The thing is, humans come up with ideas worse than any demon could ever dream up. Do it all the time. Makes you wonder why they bother sending us up here at all.” Then he looked over at Aziraphale, and his voice softened. “--but sometimes... they can be kind enough to put angels to shame, too.”</p><p>Aziraphale came over to stand at Adam's side, then, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze. “You're not wrong to be angry and upset by the injustices of the world, Adam,” he said gently. “You want to help, and that's a good thing. You have a good heart.”</p><p>He sighed. “It's understandable to be angry about all the bad things in the world. But you can't-- you musn't let that anger lead you to do even worse things trying to fix it.”</p><p>“You know,” he continued, looking out over the children's hideout. “ When we first learned of you-- I was afraid. I worried that you'd be Hell incarnate. I hoped you'd be Heaven Incarnate. But you're not either of those things. You're something better. You're <em>human</em> incarnate.”</p><p>
  <span>“And humans make their own destiny,” Crowley said, moving to stand on Adam's left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale nodded. “Exactly. That's the thing about humans,” he said. “Some of them are terrible, some of them are wonderful. Most of them are, well, a mix of both. But that's the magic of it. Angels and demons-- we're meant to only do one thing-- to only <em>be </em>one thing. But Adam, you-- you can <em>choose.”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember somethin' about that,” Adam admitted. “Because of the Tree, right? She wasn't s'posed to eat the fruit, but she did anyway.” Then he squinted, nose wrinkling. “But I thought that was supposed to be a bad thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ehhhh...” Crowley muttered. “Depends on how you look at it, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at the branches of the tree he'd been leaning against, realizing only then that it was an apple tree. Unseasonably ripe fruit hung from its branches, brilliantly red in the summer sun. Crowley scowled, fighting not to roll his eyes. Of course it would be an apple tree. She did love Her little jokes, didn't She. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still. Far be it from him to waste a dramatic moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<span>Let me tell you something about simple solutions,” he said, reaching up and plucking an apple. He rolled the fruit between his palms, remembering. A warm breeze ruffled his hair, and he thought of the desert wind, hot and dry on his skin, as he'd watched vast storm clouds building on the horizon. “</span></span>
  <span>
    <span>Destroying everything and starting over fresh sounds nice. It's simple. Easy. But the thing of it is-- no one </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>
      <span>learns</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span> anything that way. People can't get better if they're all dead.” </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at the sky, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “If you don't tell them what they did wrong,” he asked, “how can people avoid making the same mistakes again?”</span>
</p><p><span><span>He</span></span> <span><span>turned back to Adam. “And sure, you can make a new world, </span></span>and you can fill it up with new people that only do what you tell them. But if they don't have the choice to do what they want, to learn and grow and <em>choose</em>, they won't really be human.”</p><p>“The world is full of terrible things,” Aziraphale murmured, “but it's full of wonderful things, too. I collect books, you know. So many stories, so many ideas, written down and saved so that others can share them.”</p><p>He smiled, softly. “There's so much to learn and experience. If you get rid of all that, well. You can make up a new world, but <span>it won't really be the same, will it? It would be like reading a book you already know by heart. The same story, over and over again, already knowing everything that's going to happen. It's just not as exciting as reading something new.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Adam considered them both in turn, head tilted, and Crowley felt that sensation again, of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> and scrutinized. He swallowed, uncomfortably aware that their fate-- that the fate of everything-- might rest on what he said in the next few minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked down at the apple in his hand. “Choices, that's what it's all about,” he said. “</span>
  <span>
    <span>You want to make a new world? You can. Humans do that all the time, just by making choices. By asking questions. </span>
  </span>
  <span>
    <em>
      <span>'Why?' 'Why not?' 'What happens if I do this?</span>
    </em>
  </span>
  <span>
    <span>'” He huffed a soft laugh, and a hint of a smile lit his face. “Full to the brim with questions, you lot. Always have been.”</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled off his glasses, then, and looked Adam in the eyes. “I'll tell you a secret, Adam. I didn't trick Eve in to anything. She was <em>already</em> curious. She wanted to know what the Tree was, what would happen if she ate the fruit. So, I told her. That's it. She was the one who decided to eat it. And when she did... the world changed. And it <em>kept</em> changing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held the apple out to Adam. “It's your power, Adam. Your choice. Whatever the voices are telling you... they're just voices. They can't make you do anything. In the end, it's up to you to decide.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Choose wisely.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley sighed as he closed the door of the Bentley behind him, flopping back in the driver's seat.</p><p>“You think he'll do it?” he asked.</p><p>“I suppose we'll find out,” Aziraphale said mildly. “We've done all we could. There's nothing for it now but to wait and see what happens.”</p><p>Crowley hissed and slouched further down in his seat. “I hate waiting.”</p><p>Aziraphale hummed in sympathy, reaching out to clasp Crowley's hand in his own. “I know, dear. Shall we get dinner, then? Drinks?”</p><p>It would be good to have a distraction, he thought. He had faith that they were on the right path, but that faith couldn't entirely erase the undercurrent of worry. There were too many hours between now and Armaggeddon to wait comfortably with nothing else to occupy them.</p><p>Too many, and yet, if they failed... far too few.</p><p>Crowley scowled. “Not dinner. Drinks, maybe, but not-- not out.”</p><p>“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, understanding. There was a familiar tension in Crowley's frame, his long fingers tap-tapping anxiously on the steering wheel. Times likes these, crowds only made Crowley nervous. Best to have a quiet night in, then.</p><p>“Back to the cottage, then?” he asked gently, squeezing Crowley's hand.</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley rasped, squeezing back. “That... that sounds nice.”</p><p>Then he groaned, flopping back dramatically in his seat. “<em>Uuugh.</em> No. We can't, not yet. There's something we need to do in London, first.”</p><p>“In London?” Aziraphale asked.</p><p>Crowley sighed. “Yeah. The insurance. You remember.”</p><p>
  <em>Ah.</em>
  <span> Yes. Aziraphale frowned, his mouth a thin line. “I remember. Are you quite certain it's necessary?”</span>
</p><p>Crowley scrubbed at his face. “Unfortunately, yes. Tomorrow-- when they find out-- when Hell realizes they've got the wrong kid...” he swallowed. “It's gonna be bad enough, with everything else going on. I don't want-- we don't need demons ambushing us in the middle of things, too.”</p><p>“All right,” Aziraphale said. “I don't like it, but I understand.”</p><p>“I'll be perfectly safe, angel,” Crowley said, offering a crooked grin. “I'm staying right here in the Bentley. Just imagine if I had to set this up myself.”</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shuddered. “I will </span>
  <em>not</em>
  <span>.” Far too many things could go wrong in such a scenario. If just one drop fell out of place... </span>
</p><p><span>He shook himself. </span><em>None of that</em><span>. Crowley was right. He'd be safe here in the car, and once this was done, they could go home. “</span>Is there anything you need me to retrieve from your flat, while I'm there?”</p><p>“Nah.” Crowley shrugged. “There's was never anything important in there.”</p><p>“Well then,” Aziraphale said, “Let's get this over with, shall we?”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was late evening by the time they made it back to the cottage. Aziraphale took off his coat and hung it on the hook besides the door, a strange sort of relief sweeping over him. It was out of their hands now. They had done all they could do. The dice had been thrown, and all that was left to do was wait and see whether their desperate gamble would pay off.</p><p>He set about making some tea and a light snack. Crowley was likely too anxious to eat, but Aziraphale had always found a bit of a nibble did wonders to settle his own nerves.</p><p>Try as he might, however, Aziraphale soon found himself entirely distracted by the disturbance Crowley was making behind him. The demon was pacing restlessly all about the house, picking things up only to put them right back down again, and drumming his fingers on every surface he touched-- when his hands weren't curled into fists in his absurdly tiny pockets.</p><p>He looked like nothing so much as a tiger desperately pacing the limits of a too-small cage, and Aziraphale melted at the sight of it.</p><p>He sighed, and turned the kettle off. Some things were more important than tea.</p><p>“Crowley, dear,” he said, reaching out on Crowley's next orbit around the room, “<em>Do</em> come here before you wear a hole in the floorboards.” He caught Crowley's wrist in his hand, and reeled the demon in, pulling him closer until he had him held snug against his chest, arms wrapped securely around his back.</p><p>“You're not going to settle, are you?” he asked quietly against Crowley's neck.</p><p>“<em>Ngh</em><span>,</span><em>” </em><span>Crowley sniffed. “Sorry, angel. Didn't mean to bother you. I'll just-- I can go, I--”</span></p><p>“Shh,” Aziraphale soothed, cutting him off with a gentle kiss. “It's fine. Come on.” And he turned the light off with a click of his fingers, leading them both to the bedroom.</p><p>Crowley went stiff when he realized where they were headed. “Aziraphale-- what--”</p><p>“<span>You'll drive yourself mad, pacing about like that,” Aziraphale said. “Come here.” </span></p><p><span>He pulled </span>Crowley down, into the bed he never used. Unbalanced, Crowley collapsed down beside him, flopping onto the covers, limbs sprawled out at all angles. With a smile, Aziraphale drew him close again, wrapping his arms around Crowley and holding him tight to his chest. Then he brought out his wings, curving one in a soft arc over Crowley, cocooning him in a soft canopy of feathers.</p><p>“Mmph,” Crowley said, and mumbled out a half-hearted protest against Aziraphale's chest. But he let himself be held, and gradually, Aziraphale felt his breathing slow; felt the restless, twitchy movements drain away.</p><p>“There you are,” Aziraphale soothed, running his hand down Crowley's back in long, sweeping strokes. “You're all right, Crowley. I'm here.”</p><p>“Nnh,” Crowley groaned. “I know. I do. It's just--” he sighed, and when he spoke again his voice was cracked through with fear. “Aziraphale, what if we can't <em>do</em><span> this? What if we got it wrong? If Armaggeddon </span><em>does</em><span> happen, I--”</span></p><p>
  <span>He shivered then, a full-body tremble, and curled more tightly into Aziraphale's side, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his jumper. “...I can't lose you,” he whispered. “I can't.”</span>
</p><p>“I know,” Aziraphale whispered back. He felt the same. “I know, Crowley. I--”</p><p>
  <span>What could he say? He knew they were on the right path, he </span>
  <em>knew</em>
  <span> it, with the same utter clarity that he knew She loved him. He could feel it.</span>
</p><p>But Crowley couldn't. Hadn't felt it for thousands of years, and of course he was terrified. Even Aziraphale worried, though he did his best not to show it. He knew this was the right thing, he believed Armaggeddon would be stopped. But what would happen to them, when their superiors found out, how they would survive-- he didn't know. He only had faith that they would get through this somehow. That She wouldn't abandon them.</p><p>“I'm not leaving you, you know,” Aziraphale said softly, whispering the words into Crowley's hair. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I'm not leaving your side. Never again.” He pressed a soft kiss to Crowley's forehead, then his lips. “If the worst happens... well. It will happen, but we'll face it together. I won't leave you.”</p><p>Crowley shivered, curling more tightly into Aziraphale's chest, and then, almost too soft to hear, he whispered, <span>“...thank you.”</span></p><p>“<span>Of course,” Aziraphale breathed back. “Of course, Crowley. Always.” </span></p><p>They lay quietly for a long time after that, tangled together, the only sound the soft rise and fall of their breathing.</p><p>“You should sleep, if you can,” Aziraphale murmured, eventually. “You'll feel better.”</p><p>Crowley shook his head. “No,” he said. “If-- if this is our last night together... I don't want to waste it sleeping.”</p><p>“What do you want then, love?”</p><p>“...talk to me?” Crowley asked.</p><p>So Aziraphale did.</p><p>He talked of everything and nothing; gentle reminiscences of all their long years on Earth, the highs and the lows of it. Crowley joined in here and there, contributing a comment or a joke or a <em>do you remember when-?,</em> but mostly he lay still and listened.</p><p>Aziraphale's voice grew soft and scratchy as the hours ticked away, as the dark first grew deeper and then started to lighten. Under the shelter of his wing it felt as if the rest of the world had disappeared, and it was just the two of them, alone in the gentle, quiet dark.</p><p>Crowley did drop off to sleep eventually, and Aziraphale kept hold of him after, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest, reflecting on all the things that had brought them here, to this moment.</p><p>It had been a long road, from the walls of Eden to their little cottage. He had plenty of regrets, of course. But in the end... he also had Crowley. And that was more than a fair trade for anything else.</p><p>He had made his choice. Whatever happened to them tomorrow-- he knew whose side he was on. And as he watched the light through the window fade into dawn, he knew it was the right one.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, this update took longer than I'd hoped! Thanks for your patience while I wrestled with my brain to get this done. :) The chapter count did go up again, but part of why it took so long to update was because I was working on 3 chapters at once. As of now, Chapter 9 is finished and Chapter 8 is about halfway done, so there should be much less of a wait as we head towards the finale.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Judgement Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Saturday<br/>The End of the World</b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Aziraphale and Crowley arrived at the airbase early, only to find that Adam and his friends had beat them to it. The four of them stood before the gate, bicycles on one side, and a circle of sleeping American troops on the other. Across from them stood the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.</p><p>They were barely human now, their forms wreathed in all the fear and horror humanity could imagine. Death was at their head, a grim shadow, his dark robes blotting a hole in reality that even Aziraphale's eyes did their best to skitter away from.</p><p>The young Antichrist, however, seemed to have no such problem. He faced Death with all the stubborn certainty of any child caught out doing mischief: petulant and utterly unrepentant.</p><p>YOU MUST LET US PASS, the Reaper was saying, his voice a rumble that echoed across every plane at once. His words were not heard so much as <em>felt, </em>rattling through your bones and into your heart<em>. </em>Even for an angel, it was an uncomfortable sensation. WE HAVE A TASK TO DO. WE MUST ALL PLAY OUR PARTS. EVEN YOU.</p><p>“An' I'm sayin' I'm not doin' it,” Adam repeated stubbornly, not budging an inch. “You need me to start the world-endin', and I won't. So you can just skip whatever horrible things you're plannin' on doing and just turn back around and <em>go.”</em></p><p>YOU CANNOT REFUSE THIS, Death rumbled. THIS MUST HAPPEN. IT IS YOUR DESTINY.</p><p>“I didn't ask for any destiny,” Adam said. “An' I didn't ask for any of this to begin.”</p><p>YOU DID NOT HAVE TO ASK. YOUR VERY EXISTENCE DEMANDS THE ENDING OF THE WORLD. IT IS WRITTEN.</p><p>“I don't care what's written or not,” Adam scowled. “It doesn't change anything. I'm not doin' it.”</p><p>YOU MUST, Death insisted. IT IS YOUR PURPOSE FOR BEING. YOU CANNOT DENY IT. YOU HAVE THE POWER TO MAKE THE WORLD ANEW. THAT POWER MUST BE USED.</p><p>“I do, an' I'm tellin' you, I <em>won't</em>,” Adam said again. “If I have the power to make a new world, I have the power to say this one's jus' fine, actually.” He looked back over his shoulder then, catching their eye, and Aziraphale wondered how long he'd been aware of their presence. Adam gave a faint grin and a wink, before turning back to Death.</p><p>“Makin' a new world <em>sounds</em> nice and all,” he said, “but I reckon that's the kind of thing that sounds real easy until you actually try to do it.”</p><p>“Yeah!” the boy in glasses next to him piped up. “Like, this one time, I broke Mum's favorite teacup, and it wasn't so many pieces, I thought I could put it right back together with a bit of glue. But when I tried, I just ended up breaking it more.”</p><p>Adam nodded sagely. “'Zactly. An' I bet a whole world's a lot more complicated than a teacup. Probably we'd end up with even more problems than we started with.”</p><p>War, who had been silently seething behind Death, pushed forward then with a snarl.</p><p>“<em>Enough</em> of this foolishness,” she growled, unsheathing a very familiar sword. She grinned, and her teeth were bright and sharp as knives.</p><p>“Little boys, I am War,” she purred. “You were made to serve me, to live in me and die in me.” She twisted the sword in a complicated sweep, finishing with the flat of the blade in her hand, the hilt offered to Adam.</p><p>“It does not matter what you want or don't want,” she said. Her voice was a low, rumbling growl, and in it was the sound of armies marching, of blades clashing. “This is the truth of the world. The cycle of life and death. You cannot avoid it. Take up the sword, as all those before you did. Strike down your enemies and bathe the world in cleansing destruction.”</p><p>Adam didn't answer. He stared at the blade, hesitant.</p><p>The girl of the group, however, had no such reservations. She shoved past Adam, scowling up at War.</p><p>“I'm not a boy,” she spat. “An' my mum says war is just masculine imperialism executed on a global stage.” She crossed her arms. “And anyway, it's stupid.”</p><p>War sneered, and her lips and teeth were stained with red. “A little girl? Tch. Run away, little girl. This place is not for you. Go and play with your dolls.”</p><p>The girl spit in her face.</p><p>“I do <em>not</em> endorse casual sexism!” she snapped, stomping on War's foot. Startled, War stumbled back, and the sword spun from her hand and clattered on the ground. Immediately, the girl zipped forward and snatched it up. She stood, clasping it in both hands.</p><p>“What do I do? She asked Adam.</p><p>“Girl, put that <em> down </em>,” War snarled.</p><p>Adam looked at her, and then at War, a speculative expression on his face. “They're not really real, you know,” he said slowly. “They're just like nightmares, really. Just a story that people made up. They're scary, but only until you wake up.”</p><p>The girl nodded. “Okay. But what do I <em> do?” </em></p><p>Adam smiled, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just say what you believe,” he said.</p><p>“Right,” the girl nodded. She drew herself up, her stance firm and strong. There was a light in her eyes that Aziraphale recognized-- the glint of a warrior. But not a warrior fighting to destroy, no. This was the light of someone sworn to protect.</p><p>“Fighting is fun, sometimes,” the girl said, “when it's just a game. Not when people get killed. War's not a thing to <em> want </em> .” She gripped the sword tightly, and then plunged it into War's stomach. “I believe in <em> peace, </em> bitch. <em> ” </em></p><p>There was a hideous shriek, and War folded in on herself, clutching at her stomach as she shuddered and dissolved. A swirl of red dust hung in the air for a moment like a spray of blood, before disappearing into the sword. Vanished, as if she'd never been there at all.</p><p>The boy with glasses and a too-big sweater was next. He took the sword from the girl, holding it carefully until he got the weight of it, and then pointed it at Famine.<br/><br/>“I believe in food,” he said, “and a healthy lunch for everybody. Actually, it's a really good thing.”</p><p>Like War, Famine shrieked as he was cut open. He shivered and shuddered, groaning as he collapsed into a fine black dust. There was a gust of wind, and then he, too, was gone, vanished into the sword.</p><p>The last boy took the sword from his friend with grubby fingers, and stared down Pollution, who was backing away, now, dark smears staining the pavement beneath their feet.</p><p>“Dirt's fun to play in,” the boy said, “but not to live in. It's no good playing outside if everything's too rotten to enjoy it. I believe in a clean world.”</p><p>Pollution did not scream so much as gurgle, did not so much disintegrate as dissolve. They crumbled and oozed, shrinking into a puddle that grew smaller and smaller, until only a greasy-looking spot was left to show they'd ever been there at all.</p><p>And then, only Death remained.</p><p>THIS IS NOT THE END, YOU KNOW, Death warned Adam. IT HAS STOPPED, BUT THEY WILL BE BACK. WE ARE NEVER FAR AWAY, AND YOU CANNOT DESTROY <em>ME.</em></p><p>He looked at Aziraphale and Crowley, then, with a tilt of his head like the tip of a cap. GOOD DAY, GENTLEMEN.</p><p>Then he unfurled enormous wings, wings blacker than the deeps of space, and with a booming thunderclap, he vanished.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Oh, well <em> done </em>, Adam!” Aziraphale cried as Death departed. He took Crowley's hand, dragging him forward until they stood before the four children. “Well done, all of you,” he said. “You were all very brave.”</p><p>Adam smiled shyly, scuffing one unlaced shoe against the pavement. “I thought about what you said,” he said. “It was hard, 'cuz all those voices... they're really loud, still. But in the end, I figured-- it's hard enough finding stuff for Brian an' Wensleydale an' Pepper to do all the time so they don't get bored, nevermind a whole world.”</p><p>Crowley huffed. “You're not wrong. Good job, kid.” His sunglasses, as always, hid his expression, but there was a smile lurking around the edges of his lips.</p><p>Then he froze, as a rumble of thunder crackled overhead. He winced. “Ah, shit,” he muttered, running a hand nervously through his hair. “We've got company.”</p><p>He looked to Aziraphale, then, eyebrows raised, and Aziraphale gave a subtle nod. Wordlessly, they both shifted position, placing themselves on either side of Adam, as they had been the day before.</p><p>More importantly, however, it put them between the children and whatever was about to come next.</p><p>Adam's friends were clustered together now, pressing up against his back as they looked to the sky. “What's happening?” asked the boy in glasses.</p><p>“You did a good job with the Horsemen,” Crowley told him, keeping his eyes on the sky. “I wish I could say that's the end of it--”</p><p>“--But Heaven and Hell still want their war,” Aziraphale finished, his voice grim.</p><p>“What do I do?” Adam asked.</p><p>“Just-- stay strong,” Aziraphale said. He turned away from the sky, taking Adam's hand and offering a reassuring smile. “Remember what you told the Horsemen. Remember your friends, and all the things you love about Earth. Remember <em>why</em> you don't want it to end.”</p><p>“And remember,” Crowley said, taking Adam's other hand, “it's <em>your choice</em>. It doesn't matter how powerful they are. They can't <em>make</em> you do anything.”</p><p>He'd barely finished speaking before an enormous bolt of lightning split the sky, striking the ground with enough force that they all staggered back a bit. When the light faded, Gabriel was standing there, his pristine suit at odds with the furious expression on his face. There was another rumble, and besides him, the tarmac cracked and splintered, spitting out a dark, buzzing cloud that solidified into a short, scruffy figure.</p><p>“Lord Beelzebub,” Crowley muttered, wiggling his hand in an odd sort of half-bow.</p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>,” Beelzebub hissed. “The traitor. I'll deal with <em>you</em> later.”</p><p>Aziraphale, meanwhile, kept his eyes on Gabriel. This was it. Time to face the music.</p><p>“Gabriel,” he said coolly.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said tightly, his eyes skittering over the scene, taking in the group of them. “I should ask what you're doing here, but I don't have time for you right now.”</p><p>His attention snapped to Adam. “You, young man. Antichrist,” he barked. “Just what do you think you're doing?”</p><p>Adam shrugged. Aziraphale could feel him trembling slightly through their clasped hands, but he stood his ground as he stared the Archangel down.</p><p>“'S like I told those four,” he said flatly. “I'm not starting any Armaggeddon.”</p><p>“What?” Gabriel sputtered. “What do you <em> mean </em>, you won't start it?”</p><p>“But you muszzt start it,” Beelzebub hissed. “The battle <em>must</em> be decided.” Their voice turned sticky-sweet, cajoling. “Adam,” they pleaded. “When this is all over, you'll get to rule the world. Don't you want to rule the world?”</p><p>“<em>No!</em>” Adam said, stomping his foot. “I mean what I said. An' what I told those Horsemen, too. I thought about all that, an' I don't want to. I don't want any more world than I've got. Thank you all the same.”</p><p>“But- but- you <em>can't</em>.” Gabriel repeated, indignant. “You don't have a <em>choice</em>. It's your destiny. You can't just- just <em>refuse</em> to be who you are!”</p><p>“Actually, I think you'll find that he <em> does </em> have a choice,” Aziraphale said primly, cutting back in to the conversation. “Whatever else he may be, he is human, too. And humans always have a choice. That's the whole <em> point </em>.”</p><p>Gabriel froze, as if just now putting something together.</p><p>“...Wait,” he said slowly, his eyes darting back and forth between Aziraphale and Adam. “Aziraphale. Did you-- is this <em> your </em> fault?” he hissed. “You've been AWOL for days-- Is this what you've been up to while we couldn't find you? What did you <em> do?” </em></p><p>Aziraphale shrugged. “I didn't do anything, really,” he said mildly. “I merely reminded the boy he had options.”</p><p>“<em>Optionszz?”</em> Beelzebub seethed. “He does <em>not </em>have <em>options.”</em></p><p>“<em>Ehhhhh</em>,” Crowley hedged, all inarticulate vowels, twisting his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug of his own. “He does though, doesn't he? Free Will, and all that. It's a real bugger sometimes, innit?”</p><p>Beelzebub turned their snarl on him, then, a cloud of flies swarming furiously around them. “<em> Traitor </em>,” they buzzed. “This is despicable, Crowley, even for you. First Ligur, now this?”</p><p>Gabriel was wearing much the same expression as his hellish counterpart. In all his years of existence, Aziraphale had never seen him so furious<em>. </em>“Aziraphale, you worthless little <em>traitor</em>,” he snarled. “You were supposed to keep an eye on the demon, not- not <em>collude</em> with it,”</p><p>He'd visibly lost control, now, his hands clenched into fists and his face flushing red, his whole form shaking with anger. “You've never been a very good angel, Aziraphale, but even <em>you</em> should be above falling to the temptations of a <em>demon</em>.”</p><p>“Actually,” Aziraphale said primly, “it was my idea.”</p><p>At that, Gabriel froze. He took a step back, as if he'd been struck a physical blow, and when he spoke again, his voice had gone very, very quiet.</p><p>“It. Was. <em>What.”</em></p><p>Aziraphale drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, and looked Gabriel dead in the eyes as, for the first time in his long existence, he <em>talked back. </em>“It was my idea,” he said firmly, “And I would have done it with or without Crowley's help. Because this is <em>wrong</em>, Gabriel. All of it. The Earth, the humans-- they don't deserve to be wiped out to settle <em>our</em> scores.”</p><p>“It's- wh- I—” Gabriel sputtered, his mouth flopping open and shut uselessly. At last he managed to gather himself enough to snarl, “It's the <em>Great Plan</em>! We've been working on this since the Beginning! Six <em>thousand</em> years-- You <em>know</em> this, Aziraphale!”</p><p>“I don't believe it is the plan,” Aziraphale replied, calmly. He should be scared, he knew. For so long, even the thought of reporting to Gabriel had filled him with terror, left him anxious and fidgeting. But now-- now he was <em>sure</em>, and certain, in a way he'd never been before, and it filled him up, left him calm, even in the face of Gabriel's wrath. “The Great Plan, certainly,” he said. “But the Ineffable Plan—? Well. We can't know, can we?”</p><p>“They're the same thing!” Gabriel snapped.</p><p>“<em>Are</em> they?” Aziraphale asked coolly. “Are you <em>sure</em>? Heard from Her directly, have you?”</p><p>And there again, Gabriel rocked back, as if Aziraphale had hit him. He'd lost control of the situation, Aziraphale thought, and it was undoing him. His eyes were darting wildly back and forth, and he'd gone pale, almost ashen. “That's not-- it's not possible,” he gasped.</p><p>“Be a real shame if you thought you were doing what the Great Plan said,” Crowley remarked casually, “but <em>actually</em> you were going directly against Her Ineffable Plan, eh?”</p><p>“But it iszz written!” Beelzebub protested.</p><p>“People keep sayin' that, but I dunno why,” Adam said placidly. “I don't see how it matters what's written. Not when it comes to people. It can always be crossed out.”</p><p>“That- I- <em>hhh </em>--God does not play games with the universe!” Gabriel spat, but he sounded desperately uncertain.</p><p>Aziraphale could only look at him pityingly. Crowley snorted in open disdain. “Whoo-<em> ee,” </em> he snickered. “Where have <em> you </em> been?”</p><p>Clearly out of their depth, the two managers retreated, stepping away and bowing their heads for a furious, whispered conversation.</p><p>The huddle didn't last long. The two of them broke apart, and Gabriel scowled as he approached Adam again. “Young man, you-- you were put on this earth to do one thing and only one thing, and that is <em>end it</em>.” He shook a finger at him. “You are a <em>disobedient little brat</em> and I hope <em>someone</em> tells your father about all this.”</p><p>Beside him, Beelzebub hissed, low and threatening. “Oh, <em>we will</em>.”</p><p>There was a shiver in the air, and then they were gone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A heavy silence rolled across the airfield, tense and forbidding. The whole world seemed to be holding its breath.</p><p>“Is- is it over?” one of the children ventured.</p><p>“Not sure,” Crowley admitted. “I think--” and then he gave a sharp gasp of pain, nearly falling over as he staggered, clutching at his chest. Aziraphale reached out and caught him before he could fall, and Crowley shuddered as he leaned into the support.</p><p>“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. “What is it, what's happened?”</p><p>“They did it,” Crowley rasped, his voice thin and taut as a wire. “They told his father. It's Himself. He's coming.”</p><p>He gasped again, fingers tangling in Aziraphale's coat as he tried to stay upright, but despite his best efforts he fell to his knees, as if something was pulling him down. It was all Aziraphale could do to keep him from falling face-first to the asphalt, holding the demon up with a firm arm around his shoulders.</p><p>Crowley was shaking now, gasping for breath as he clung to Aziraphale's leg like a lifeline.</p><p>“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, and tried again to pull the demon to his feet, only to stagger himself as the ground bucked beneath him. Behind him, the children shrieked in fear.</p><p>Then the earth cracked open like an egg, and the Devil himself rose before them.</p><p>He was, quite simply, <em>terrifying</em>.</p><p>Aziraphale had never encountered Lucifer, but he had heard stories, even Before, about his incredible charm, his astonishing beauty.</p><p>There was none of that to be seen, now. The Devil that rose above them was a monstrous thing, huge and bestial. Aziraphale thought he could see, here and there, the bits of him that had been angelic once, and they were all the more horrifying now for the way they had been twisted and profaned. But even worse than than was the aura he broadcast-- a hurricane of cruelty and malice that shook Aziraphale to his core, his celestial light shivering at the strength of it.</p><p>No wonder Crowley couldn't manage to stand. How much worse was it for him, bound as he was to Hell?</p><p><em><b>Where is he?!</b></em> Satan bellowed at them, his claws digging rifts into the tarmac. <em><b>Where is my son?</b></em></p><p>Adam and his friends still stood behind Aziraphale, but now they clung to each other, clearly terrified. Even Adam looked nervous, staring up at the bulk of the great beast that loomed above them.</p><p>Aziraphale could see the way the boy swallowed, could see the fear shining in his eyes. With all the power at his fingertips, it was easy to forget he was still just a child. Powerful as the Antichrist was, stood next to the might of the Adversary, he seemed almost impossibly small.</p><p>But he was human, too, and humans were resilient. Especially when faced with impossible odds. And so he took a deep breath, and then put one foot forward, and then another.</p><p>“I'm right here!” he called.</p><p>Satan hissed and snarled, curling down to meet the boy's gaze. <b>You? You are my rebellious son? </b></p><p>“I--” Adam hesitated, and looked back at them. Aziraphale could see the question in his eyes, the uncertainty there.</p><p>“Remember,” he called. “You're human. It's your choice. Even <em>he</em> can't change that.”</p><p>Crowley, still on his knees, managed a rough nod. “Adam,” he said. “Right now, reality will listen to you. You can change things. Make it count.”</p><p>Adam nodded, and when he turned back to face Satan, the stubborn light had returned to his eyes.</p><p>“You're not my dad,” he called. “Dads don't wait until you're eleven to say hello! And then turn up just to tell you off!”</p><p>Satan hissed. <em><b>What?</b></em></p><p>“If I'm in trouble with my dad...” Adam said, and his face was tight with strain, fists clenching at his sides. “Then it won't be you.”</p><p><em><b>What did you say?</b></em> Satan rumbled, but there was a note of fear in it now. <em><b>You can't</b></em><b>-</b></p><p>“You're not my dad,” Adam said, and his eyes were shining now, <em>really</em> shining, bright with power and intent. All of reality was held in his hand, waiting to bend to his will.</p><p><em><b>No</b></em><b>, </b>Satan breathed. <em><b>NO, no, no, no--</b></em></p><p>“<em>And you never were!”</em>Adam cried.</p><p>Satan <em>howled </em>and curled in on himself, crumpling and dissolving the same way the Horsemen had, leaving behind rolling waves of smoke that filled the air around them. And when a wind came, a moment later, and brushed them away, the only shape left was that of an ordinary car, as a rather baffled-looking Mr. Young pulled up beside them.</p><p>Crowley gasped like someone rescued from drowning, and slumped bonelessly against Aziraphale's leg. “He did it,” he muttered, “He really did it.”</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale smiled, as Mr. Young began herding Adam and the other children into his car. “He really did.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley poured himself gratefully into the seat of the Bentley, feeling rather more liquid than solid at the moment. Every party of him ached, and he was utterly exhausted. He wanted to lay down and sleep for a week, at least.</p><p>And yet...</p><p>“It's not over,” he sighed, cracking one eye open so he could look at Aziraphale. “You know that, right? You heard them. Traitors, both of us. They won't let that go unpunished.”<br/><br/>“Yes, I'm sure they won't,” Aziraphale said, reaching out with one arm and tugging Crowley over so he could slump into his side. Crowley groaned, but buried his face gratefully in the angel's neck.<br/><br/>“ 'Ziraphale,” he muttered, “what're we going to <em>do</em>?”</p><p>“I don't know, love,” Aziraphale said. “I--” He paused.</p><p>“Wha- what is it?” Crowley asked, pushing himself up, trying to force himself back to alertness, to prepare for some new threat.</p><p>“Shhh,” Aziraphale soothed. “It's nothing. Just a bit of paper in my pocket.” There was a soft crinkle as he fished it out, and Crowley felt him tense in surprise. “Oh! It's from Anathema's book... it must have fallen out before I returned it to her. How curious,” he said.</p><p>“Don' suppose it says anything useful?” Crowley grumbled.<br/><br/>“Funny you should say that,” Aziraphale said, and there was something in his voice that made Crowley sit up.</p><p>“What is it?” he asked.</p><p>Aziraphale looked at the paper, his eyes thoughtful, and then looked down at Crowley. “I believe I have an idea,” he said. “We may have one last card to play. You're not going to like it, though.”<br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lots of lines borrowed here from the book + script book, which proved an invaluable resource for referencing scenes/dialogue.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Our Own Side</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Sunday</b>
</p><p>
  <b>The First Day of the Rest of their Lives</b>
</p><p> </p><p><br/>Aziraphale was right. Crowley <em>didn't </em>like it. But it worked. They were dragged into Heaven and Hell captives, and they walked out under their own power, free for the first time in their immortal lives.</p><p>After the whirlwind events of the morning, the rest of the day seemed to pass almost supernaturally slowly, as if Time itself had slowed down to allow them to savor every moment. Lunch at the Ritz turned into dinner turned into drinks, and neither of them wanted to end it. It was too perfect, sitting with their hands tangled together, out in open for anyone to see, without any of the worry of discovery that had dogged their steps for so long.</p><p>But at last the sky outside grew dark, and the tables around them emptied, one by one, and they were forced to leave. They walked the streets for a little longer in companionable silence, gazing up at the stars, enjoying the cool night air.</p><p>And then, finally, they went home.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Crowley hadn't had much to bring with him to the cottage. He hadn't kept up a permanent residence in decades, and he'd never been one for material things anyway. The Mayfair flat had been something he'd kept for work; his designated base of operations for the Armaggeddon job. He'd furnished it as sparsely as possible, and what belongings he'd kept there had been largely show. They were meant to project an image for Hell; there was nothing of himself in them.</p><p>In the end he brought only his expansive music collection, a few particularly rugged houseplants, and a few trinkets that would never admit to being sentimental: a sketch of the Mona Lisa, an ancient astrolabe, a seed from Babylon.</p><p>But there were stores an easy drive away, and they made something of a project of it, buying new things for the cottage and properly setting up their home. And while Crowley didn't have many personal belongings, he'd been spending time at the cottage for years now, and Aziraphale had picked out many of the furnishings with him in mind. In the end, their tastes blended together more easily than either of them might have expected.</p><p>They bought new linens for the bed; sinfully smooth silk sheets and a cozy soft duvet in swirls of deep grey and red. There were soft woolen blankets and throws for the couches and chairs in the sitting room, and plenty of pillows, perfect for a long night's reading or an afternoon nap. There were other things, too; pots, pans, and plates for the kitchen, because Aziraphale thought he might try his hand at cooking, now that he had the time for it. Curtains and rugs. A comfy sofa and an excessively large TV and stereo system, for Crowley's den.</p><p>And then there was the exterior. The garden was a wild mess. It had been left to its own devices for over a decade, but Crowley looked forward to wrangling it. To building something new out of formless chaos. It wasn't quite the same thrill as star-building, but there was something deeply satisfying in it all the same. There was something visceral about having your hands in the dirt, about planting a seed and watching it grow. Something very <em>earthly.</em></p><p>It felt a bit like this thing the two of them had, now. Something new, that they were building together. Not Heavenly or Hellish, but something in the middle. <em>Our own side.</em></p><p>It felt, a little bit, like hope.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>And, of course, they unpacked the books.</p><p>Aziraphale's collection, rescued at last from its long exile at King's College, took weeks to unpack, which was entirely Aziraphale's fault. The angel continually got distracted and started reading books rather than shelving them, or started to organize things one way, only to realize halfway through that he wanted something different and begin the whole process over. Crowley spent the time curled up on the sofa, ostensibly keeping busy on his phone, but really, just taking the opportunity to watch Aziraphale.</p><p>Oh, he feigned annoyance, of course, and provided plenty of teasing over the angel's methods, but in truth, he loved every second of it. Aziraphale's joy was just so <em>palpable</em>, and Crowley's heart swelled in a terribly un-demonic way to see him so happy. To see him free at last to enjoy the things he loved. And to know that he, Crowley, was the one who'd been able to give him this. Who'd saved the books. Whatever else Aziraphale had lost in their long time apart, Heaven hadn't been able to take that from him.</p><p>It was enough to make him blush terribly. He didn't bother telling his corporation not to, this time. But he did roll over to better hide his face among the pillows.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Eventually Aziraphale managed to arrange everything to his satisfaction, and he stood in the middle of the room, admiring the filled bookshelves and savoring a cup of tea. He smiled. Everything was in its proper place--</p><p>Except. There was one box, tucked away in a corner, that he hadn't noticed before. Strange. He was sure he'd unpacked everything in his collection, but then, it had been quite awhile... were there some books he'd forgotten?</p><p>“What's this?” Aziraphale murmured, as he tugged the box out of its hiding place. He pulled open the cardboard flaps and peered inside. It was full of books, yes, but none that he recognized. Brushing his fingertip over the cover of one, he lifted it from the box and peered at it curiously. “<em>Devil's Cub</em>, by Georgette Heyer<em>...”</em> He flipped open the cover and looked at the publication date. 1932. Yes, certainly far too new to be anything he had purchased.</p><p>“Crowley,” he called over his shoulder, “These aren't my books.”</p><p>Crowley, who'd been lounging on the sofa and half-asleep, sat up at that. “Hmnh?” He mumbled, swiping a hand across his face. “What is it, angel?”</p><p>“This book.” Aziraphale said, waving the book at him, “Is this yours?”</p><p>Crowley flushed, mumbling a string of garbled vowels the way he tended to do when he was flustered. Eventually he shrugged, and looked away. “No,” he said. “They're not mine. They're yours.”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned, pulling a few more books from the box. “They aren't, though. I didn't buy any of them. I'm sure I would remember... these are all quite recent titles.” He picked up another one, flipping open the cover to check the publication date. “Yes. See? <em>A Glass of Blessings,</em> 1958. I'm sure I'd remember buying this. They must be yours.”</p><p>“You know I don't read,” Crowley said, repeating the well-worn lie. His mouth twitched in a shy smile, and he sighed, flopping back on the couch. “All right, yeah. You're right. I bought them. But they're for you. All of them. Think of it as a-- ah, housewarming gift, I guess. Just a couple centuries delayed.”</p><p>“I see,” Aziraphale said, a soft smile spreading on his face. Setting the book back in its box, he stood and walked over to the demon, sitting down on the sofa and pulling Crowley into a sideways embrace. “Thank you.”</p><p>Crowley flushed harder at that, the tips of his ears flaring red, and he ducked his head, burying his face in Aziraphale's neck. Aziraphale saw his throat bob, several times, and he smiled again, tucking a strand of hair behind the demon's ear as he waited. He could be patient. Words were hard for Crowley, he knew that. He'd always had preferred to speak with actions. And this was a very loud gift indeed.</p><p>“I just- I saw things, sometimes,” Crowley muttered at last, “over the years. Books, plays. Music. Things you'd like. So I- I picked them up, here and there. Just in case. Didn't want you missing out.”</p><p>He looked up at Aziraphale, then, a teasing glint in his eye. “Can't have you falling even further behind the times, right, angel?” He smirked, obviously trying to make a joke of it, but the honesty in his eyes was all too clear.</p><p>“Oh, <em>Crowley.</em>” Aziraphale pulled him even tighter to his chest, and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. The demon always did give the most thoughtful gifts. Crowley was looking more than a little pained at the sincerity of his admission, though, so Aziraphale kept his praise to himself. “I will look forward to reading them,” he said, gently. “Shall we start one now?”</p><p>“Now?” Crowley asked. “Didn't you want to put these away?”</p><p>“Oh, I'm certain that it will take quite a bit of time to properly sort and categorize them all,” Aziraphale said, smiling broadly, “and it's nothing that can't wait. We have plenty of time.”</p><p>Settling back into the couch, he murmured, “I thought...Perhaps we could read them together.”</p><p>“Together?” Crowley squeaked.</p><p>“Unless you've something else planned?” Aziraphale asked, arching one eyebrow.</p><p>“Nnnhh-- nope, nah, this is--” Crowley coughed, curling more tightly into Aziraphale's side. “This is good. Yeah. This is fine.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, and if there was a bit of a smirk to it, well. Crowley couldn't see. “Good,” he said. “Now, let's see...”</p><p>He reached out and pulled the top book off the pile, opened it up, and began to read.</p><p>“<em>Pride and Prejudice,</em> by Jane Austen. '<em>I</em><em>t is a </em><em>truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife...'”</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's a wrap! Thank you all for coming along with me on this story. This is the longest complete work I've ever written. It was definitely a struggle at times, but I learned a lot doing it, and I'm really happy to have brought this AU into the world. </p><p>If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment! I love hearing what people think. :3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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